


Fragile Feelings, Fragile Progress (made available for minors)

by candiedbonemarrow



Series: Teen Counterparts to Explicit Fics [1]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: EVERYONE IS OVER 21 as dictated in canon, I'll tag chapters with violence before they begin, M/M, Multi, Plot-centric, erikar - Freeform, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 85,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21592288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candiedbonemarrow/pseuds/candiedbonemarrow
Summary: This is the teen version of the same fic under this title (no parentheses in original title)! No need to keep up on this one if you're reading the other one, but I just thought I'd make it more accessible to people you know?
Relationships: Eridan Ampora/Karkat Vantas, The Orphaner/The Signless
Series: Teen Counterparts to Explicit Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556152
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	1. Karkat Binges... Netflix? for the 20th Time This Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edit: if you've read this before and you're confused, wait for the notes at the end, please. Thank you

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the passing of one 22 year old Karkat Vantas. While not a proper burial, the couch will have to do- the body has become irremovable from the cushion fabric, as it has been left to sit for an estimated week untouched, and is now far too bloated for mortuary embalming. So sorry. We are not yet sure of what makes up the mysterious liquid it oozes, but as a precaution, we ask that all funeral guests stay behind the line so that they don’t get sick. This should not be hard, as there are none here- OH! It’s moving- HE’S moving, excuse me. Seems we do have a story to tell after all!

… Maybe it would have been better for him to have stayed down.

Sunken eyes, heavy and dry, reddened by irritation, leathery skin, a sour taste at the edge of his tongue; soured lungs, too, every breath bitter and hot and angry. _What energy does he have to be angry_ , a sharp thought as he stretches away from the couch, twists his spine until it pops in four places. Then again, when has Karkat ever needed anything more than the boiling blood in his veins to make him constantly frustrated beyond belief? Hot, it’s hot in here, too hot for January or for sweaters (oh, his poor beloved couch, how you need a deep drycleaning.) God, his hips ache. One, two, three seconds on one foot, three seconds on the other. Shifting weight helps, right? He’s not usually this stiff.

Usually. He doesn’t usually have more than a few hours to sit and rot away- and how he would love to do that, any _other_ time, really, any other time than this time- and with week one of his two week vacation from his unreasonably busy workplace, with tight schedules, and from school, and every other, _thing_ , he has… it’s something he’ll work for in the future, but something he can’t afford right now. Maybe someday he’ll ask his boss when he grows a _real_ spine, one that isn’t about as soft as that puff marshmallow spread you can get at the store and as brittle as his pride.

The TV’s been static, something to fill up the silence so that his mind doesn’t wander to the wrong places. Or, more wrong than it is right now. He can deal with heat in his lungs, he can handle the seemingly endless hunger that gnaws at his insides. Hell, the sharp pulsing in his head isn’t even the worst he could sign up for! If it were only all that, it’d be a simple matter of grabbing something that _isn’t_ garbage to eat and then hitting up his bed for some well-needed sleep, lights off, no noise, comfortably chilled room so he can stay underneath his sheets.

But ah, as luck would have it, it’s never a simple matter for Karkat Vantas. Sleepless nights and ice packs lined at his back, cradled to his chest to cram in a mere hour before the internal clock kickstarts that shit brain of his. To be honest? He doesn’t even _know_ what’s keeping him up lately. He’s got all the liberty he ever wanted and he’s had more than ample time to catch up on sleep debt that work hours have cut into. People would _kill_ for this. He’s lucky. 2 weeks off and he’s only been employed a little more than a year…

Stomach acid curdles somewhere beneath his sternum when somewhere in the dark, he catches sight of his calendar, which dutifully reminds him, in bold, bright red lettering, this is not where he’s supposed to be right now.

He’d trash the page if he could! Really! He’s fucking sick of looking at it, but he needs that page for when he has to go back to work (and for when Sollux actually gets back because it’s going right in front of his face, along with his calendar for LAST year, so that he can get a properly rounded idea of _exactly_ what’s been going on and why he’s going to sit on Sollux’s next request for _anything_ until it expires and stinks up his disgustingly expensive fridge.) Insidious is what it is, the way it burns at him, smacks him around- CALIFORNIA in all caps, written with his _favorite_ marker that he only pulls out when he cares about what he’s writing down. When he’s EXCITED about it.

And oh boy, was he excited. And oh _boy,_ did it crush his heart to hear that they wouldn’t be going on it, because Feferi couldn’t actually be bothered to spend time with anyone else, after all, and she wanted to hog Sollux for the upteenth time since they officially started dating because, in her very unhumble opinion, she ‘hasn’t had enough one-on-one experiences with Sollux,’ and she’s ‘not sure they can take a vacation with everyone else until they settle in more.’ Whatever THAT was supposed to mean. As if it was a proper excuse to ruin everyone else’s fun, when they couldn’t afford it themselves, when Karkat had spent, DAYS, entire weekends blocked off just to grab a few of his friends and figure out what they wanted to do together, where everyone wanted to go. He still has the planner, sitting out on his table, open faced. The dark is so merciful in veiling it from sight; he’s not sure he can handle the emotional labor of having to face the fact that he will never get back all of those hours he put into it that could have gone into literally anything else. He could have literally laid himself out in the middle of the street and it would have been more productive than chucking that pile of crud together just so it could mock him. California because everyone wanted to be there. California because they didn’t _have_ to be. Because it was their choice. His, choice. Because it was fun. California for a reason. California, for a _reason-_

… But that’s not it. Sollux wasn’t entitled to give him that and he, kind of expected things to fall through, given the nature of his ‘ever-so-dutiful’ matesprit that can’t handle any sort of responsibility she doesn’t put on herself. No, no matter how much he was looking forward to this, NEEDED it, a missed vacation isn’t worth missing sleep over. He’s, even relieved? Not much. It was going to be REALLY fun and with ample rest time scheduled in, and yet...

There’s something else. Something missing, and it’s hiding from him, and it _has_ been hiding from him ever since he got the chance to sit down and let his thoughts voice themselves, for the first time in a _long_ time.

Problem is, his brain can’t get to it right now, so he’s shit out of luck and it’s worth noting that he couldn’t give less of a shit unless it starts cutting into work hours, so like every OTHER problem he has, he’ll leave it to fester while he takes care of more important things and then pick it back up when it becomes too much for him to handle. It’s the only strategy he has.

Coming all the way here, on wobbly legs, with this TERRIBLE buzzing in his ears, eyelids so heavy they WILL fall off, he thinks, only to find that he has no coffee left, is the PERFECT last addition to today’s funeral procession, and oh, how _rancid_ it tastes in his mouth. An empty coffee tin, right next to his least favorite flavor of chips and all this other crud he saves for when he gets sick _that he is thanking his goddamn stars he doesn’t actually have to use right now, there’s a reason it takes up the majority of his cabinets_ . He’ll fill the empty plastic with something else, he can _not_ be bothered to try and shove it into his piling trash can right now. Salt and Vinegar it will have to be.

Sour and salty, just like his crumbled dreams.

He doesn’t understand why he buys things he doesn’t like oh that’s right it’s because people actually come over to his house and EAT here and THAT’S why Sprite is the only beverage in his fridge because he drank all the GATORATE because it’s only been HIM for the past MONTH and Gatorade is his FAVORITE and he has been AVOIDING THE SPRITE CANS IN ALL THEIR SHARP STINKING CARBONATED GLORY ONLY IT’S NOT GLORIOUS IT ACTUALLY HURTS and if he has to actually chug one down he WILL kick the bucket in REAL LIFE, TOP TEN LIFE HACKS THAT WILL MAKE YOUR LIFE SO MUCH EASIER NOT CLICKBAIT FREE LIFE HACKS NOW!!! GET RID OF KARKAT VANTAS WITH ONE EASY STEP MUST SEE LIFE HACK-

Ah, Beyond Mistakes, just like that Beyond Sausage sandwich they have at Dunkin’ or whatever, only it doesn’t taste good, just like cut up throat tissues with disgustingly sharp lemon lime. Ohmygod he would kill for a sandwich right now. What ti- … Five AM. Maybe, maybe he can hold out for another hour to see if somewhere good is open, and he’ll just go buy breakfast. Not like he’d be sleeping anyway.

The couch is sweaty and gross and he doesn’t want to go back there. Anything but that _damned couch._ But he doesn’t want to leave the TV on. But he’s _not_ sitting back down, no matter how shaky he is. No matter, how bad his back hurts. But the TV-

FUCK the TV. He wasn’t planning on it ANYWAY, it’s just some shit to do because he doesn’t have any money to do anything else and he’s burned through his PILING recommended list- SHIT season of Stranger Things, by the way, the first one was better- and it’s all just the same garbage over, and over, and _over_ again, but it’s so _cheap_ compared to everything else and it’s like. It’s like the salt in his wound. The vinegar in his throat. The goddamn chip bits that cut deeper because he is catering to just about everyone but himself right now, so he’s going to do something that’s actually good for himself, for once,

and he is going to leave that TV on while he takes a nice, long shower.

* * *

Nice and fresh, with no paralyzing fear of being shot down by a drone in the middle of washing; he’s goddamn lucky they’re not back on Alternia. He loves Earth. He _loves_ Earth. Don’t let John hear it, but it’s beautiful here, safer, too, if only by a little bit, and the problems are familiar but at least not _everyone_ is trying to kill him here, or turn him in for some quick cash. Being vulnerable in your own home with no- uh, little, fear, of getting stabbed, is the most liberating feeling. He can sit down on his bed in some comfortable pajamas and no thermal blanket, take as long as he wants to drying his hair-

What the hell is his phone vibrating for?

It is, NOT EVEN six _fucking_ AM and he KNOWS. he KNOWS no one is up this early! Not a SINGLE GODDAMN ONE OF THEM would BOTHER with this sort of shit unless they ABSOLUTELY HAD TO for EMERGENCIES ONLY, which makes him a little bit afraid but they’d be CALLING. They have no problems calling him normally WHO IS TEXTING HIM AT FIVE AM?/??///?? AT FIVE AM THEY’RE REALLY TEXTING HIM AT. FIVE AM MURDER. KILL. HE IS GOING TO SHOW UP AT THEIR HOUSE WITH A BOTTLE OF SPOILED MILK TO POUR IN THEIR VENTS- no but really he should check it because that’s concerning.

twinArmageddons [TA] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]

He is going to hand Sollux’s ass back to him as soon as he’s done carving it with a butcher knife.

He is putting up with terrible screen response for THIS??? Water droplets preventing him from typing for THIS SHIT. Right fucking NOW. Of ALL TIMES. Over a service that ISN’T EVEN UPDATED ANYMORE that he REALLY only uses for ONE REASON. AND IT’S NOT THIS. This BETTER be funny.

TA: hey 2o iim awake riight now and iit2 not conveniient but liike are you free for a minute

**_Hatred._ **

CG: IT’S HOW FUCKING EARLY CAPTOR. DO YOU WANT TO TELL ME HOW EARLY IT IS OVER THERE FOR YOU, OR DO YOU NEED ME TO TELL YOU? DO YOU NEED ME TO LOOK UP YOUR TIME ZONE BECAUSE YOU, IN ALL YOUR GLORY, DECIDED IT WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA TO TEXT ME THIS EARLY IN THE MORNING AND ASK IF I WAS ‘FREE FOR A MINUTE.’ DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND THE IMPLICATIONS OF YOUR CASUAL TEXT MESSAGE, WHILE YOU ARE ON VACATION, NO LESS, ONE I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ON? YOU DIPSHIT? YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING CHUMP? GIVE ME ONE GOOD EXCUSE RIGHT NOW OR I’M THROWING A FIST SQUARE BETWEEN YOUR EYEBALLS THE NEXT TIME I SEE YOU

TA: okay lii2ten ii am 2orry but liike ii am goiing two be bu2y all day when ii wake up and ii figured iit would be better to at lea2t try two contact you about iit before ii can’t actually talk two you and make 2ure you know about iit

CG: MUST BE NICE TO BE BUSY IN A 2,000 DOLLAR A NIGHT HOTEL ROOM. DO THEY WIPE YOUR ASS TOO FOR THAT MUCH MONEY? BECAUSE IT REEKS RIGHT NOW

TA: you are 2o mean two me all the tiime

CG: IF YOU DIDN’T WANT MEAN MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THAT BEFORE TEXTING ME AT FIVE FUCKING AM. GOOD LORD, SOLLUX, ARE YOU ASKING FOR AN ASS REAMING? AND WHY TROLLIAN? YOU HAVE MY FUCKING NUMBER

TA: you have your phone on 2iilent duriing the niight unle22 people call twiice and ii dont really want two call you ii think that2 2tupiid iit2 liike fiive am

Oh the _little_ -

CG: I HATE YOU SO MUCH

TA: good for you ii gue22

The motherfucker probably looks so smug right now with his dumbass face. Prime asshole right here. He’d pummel the shit out of him if he WERE here but that’s the point, huh? He wouldn’t be such a grade A bitch if he were actually going to suffer the consequences for it. At least, not after-

TA: 2o liike are you free or not

Oh, he’s free. He’s about as free as he possibly could be, right now, he doesn’t understand how to sit around and do nothing, but for Sollux? Nah. Not today. He’s putting this shit down, he can talk about it when he gets back. He’s not freezing his ass off just because he

CG: WHAT DO YOU WANT?

Yeah, it’s good he got that far, but he buckles so quickly it’s shameful.

TA: well now ii feel 2tupiid

CG: NO YOU DON’T. YOU’RE JUST TRYING TO PISS ME OFF

TA: yeah ii am haha

TA: you know iit2 20 fuckiing funny two me ii bet your face look2 liike a 2hriiveled up tomato riight now how2 the furrowed brow goiing

WHY does he even try? Why does he give a single shit about anybody? So that he can be their funny little guy with a short temper that they can pick on for funsies? For laughs? An absolute chuckle? He’s giving Sollux so much slack right now and he fucking. He does this. Okay. Fine. He’s,

CG: YOU KNOW MAYBE I’M NOT FREE AFTER ALL. GOODNIGHT SOLLUX

TA: okay okay ii get iit youre not iin the mood iim 2orry KK iill get on wiith iit yee2h

TA: two be hone2t ii really wii2h 2hed talk about iit her2elf

Oh fucking bother, alright. Now he’s in for some Bulled Shit.

CG: WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ‘SHE?’ DOES FEFERI HAVE SOME SORT OF PROBLEM WITH ME?

TA: no not a problem or anythiing iim ju2t

TA: kiind of tiired of beiing her me22enger boy

Him and everybody else and oh boy, that’s a bad start already.

TA: but now2 not the tiime for my 2iick a22 baggage becau2e 2he had the briight iidea two deciide at 3 am thii2 morniing that 2he wa2 haviing an earth biirthday party

CG: OH DEAR LORD

An, earth birthday party? Is that cultural appropriation? I mean it’s probably the proper way to celebrate their age now that they’re on earth- is saying their age in earth years ALSO cultural appropriation? It’s not like there’s any particular culture on earth where birthdays are exclusive to them so maybe it’s, okay? And why does he give a shit since some humans have actually celebrated their Alternian Sweeps and THAT’S not a big deal? He’ll bite.. for now.

TA: THAT2 WHAT II 2AIID but then 2he gave me crap for iit 2o iim kiind of cuttiing my lo22e2 becau2e ii gue22 2he actually want2 two do thii2

TA: 2he2 planned a date and time and everythiing iin the la2t two hour2 and ii want two go to bed 2o bad riight now you have no idea

CG: OH I HAVE A LITTLE BIT OF AN IDEA BUT I DIGRESS. SO WHAT ABOUT THIS DO YOU NEED MY HELP WITH

TA: oh no help needed

TA: thii2 ii2 an iinformal iinviitatiion

CG: AT FIVE AM? A FUCKING FORMAL INVITATION AT FIVE AM. WHY COULDN’T THIS HAVE WAITED UNTIL LATER

TA: 2he2 tryiing two make 2ure iit matche2 up wiith your 2chedule fiir2t becau2e everyone el2e2 ii2 more flexiible and ii 2aiid ii diidnt wanna do iit on a day you couldnt come

CG: THAT’S… ACTUALLY REALLY SWEET. I MEAN I DON’T REALLY WANT TO GO, SO DON’T COUNT ON IT 100% ANYWAY, BUT LIKE, I MEAN I CAN CHECK TO SEE IF I’M AVAILABLE THAT DAY ON THAT TIME I GUESS?

TA: thank2 KK

And it’s, not like he’s going to bother with his hair now, it’s just going to be cold and chilly and miserable for a while but maybe it’ll be less tangled than if he ruffles it with a towel until the moisture is ripped from his hair strands, so he gets up from his bed and starts for his poor, ugly calendar, in the dark, because he’s not sure he wants to deal with the light right now. The TV continues softly, a dim light glowing just outside the kitchen and a nice, distracting background noise while he’s stuck trying to unhook his calendar from the wall (and tripping on his goddamn tile because it’s pitch black in here and he swears maybe he should bother a little more,) and text Sollux, at the same time.

CG: SO WHAT DAY IS THIS?

He’s, no, he can’t see anything but the bold printed BOTCHED vacation time on it, so he’s gotta turn on the flashlight. There’s a little beep from his thermostat. Cold air blows from the vents in his kitchen, about an hour too late. Absolute torture is what he’d describe the way the vents FREEZE his poor horns, and he yelps, tugs his shirt over his head. It doesn’t help. His shirt is wet. He should have brought the towel.

TA: her earth day whiich ii2 march 14th ii thiink

March 14th, March 14th...

TA: 2he2 planniing on haviing iit late iin the eveniing 2o liike 7 pm maybe? that2 the part were 2tiill fiiguriing out but ii 2aiid iit ha2 two be after your work iin ca2e iit2 a day you work on

It’s funny, how he’s so crammed all January and February (is it, really the 11th of February ALREADY? He could have sworn it was January still,) but March is all open past the first week. It’s nice that he gets to pick again for himself. Question is, does he WANT to go?

CG: OKAY, UH, I THINK I CAN DO THAT ACTUALLY. I CAN ASK FOR THOSE DAYS OFF BUT DON’T CHANGE THE TIME ANYWAY BECAUSE IT’S NOT A GUARANTEE

TA: iill ju2t tell her you work that day 2o 2he doesnt change iit becau2e 2hed rather have a party at noon and ii know that even iif you had the day off you are way two bu2y for that 2hiit

CG: GOD, YOU’RE TELLING ME

Alright, now that he’s got that squared away- only there’s this prickle at the back of his spine. It could be the AC, sure. It gives him that same feeling from earlier, the one where he feels like he’s just, right there, on the edge of figuring it out.

What’s he forgotten? Is his gut playing connect the dots with context he doesn’t have yet?

CG: IS THAT IT?

TA: well ii kiind of liied a liittle biit ii actually do need your help

CG: YOU ARE GODDAMN INFURIATING. I AM GOING TO SQUEEZE YOUR BRAIN OUT OF YOUR HEAD AND ONTO THE PAVEMENT LIKE YOU ARE A TOOTHPASTE TUBE, AND THEN I’M GOING TO WATCH AS SQUIRRELS EAT YOUR ROTTING CORPSE

TA: love you two a22hole

CG: IT BETTER NOT BE WITH COSTS OR ANYTHING

TA: oh hell no iim not that biitch ii have money

TA: iit2 2omethiing ii cant actually do my2elf

TA: well ii could but iit2 uh iit2 a liittle 2en2iitiive and FF cant do iit eiither becau2e 2he blocked hiim

CG: BLOCKED HIM? I AM NOT SORTING OUT YOUR SHIT- OR, HER SHIT, I GUESS, BUT EITHER OF YOUR SHIT. OR ANYONE’S SHIT, RIGHT NOW, FOR THAT MATTER

TA: no iit2 not that eiither

CG: WHAT THE HELL COULD YOU POSSIBLY NEED ME TO DO THAT ISN’T FIXING SHIT, WITH SOMEONE FEFERI HAS BLOCKED, AND SOMEONE YOU WON’T TALK TO?

It’s right there, it’s stronger, now, back on the verge of going numb and he’s _right there._ If Sollux would stop, avoiding it,

TA: iit2 not that ii wont talk two hiim he ju2t wont accept the iinviitatiion from my mouth becau2e ii have been a royal a22 two hiim becau2e iit2 fun but now iim realii2iing iit2 uh

TA: not conveniient for me iin the lea2t bit

If he would jUST,

CG: CAN YOU SAY IT FOR ME SO THAT I DON’T ACTUALLY HAVE TO GO GUESSING UNTIL YOU TELL ME I’M ON THE NOSE? PLEASE? IT’S SO EARLY I CAN’T HANDLE IT RIGHT NOW AND I’M STARTING TO GET COLD

TA: can you

TA: uh iif you guy2 are 2tiill talkiing ii mean

TA: can you go ahead and iinviite ED two?

.

Oh.

There it is.

CG: WHAT?

TA: lii2ten ii dont know what the fuck 2he2 thiinkiing by doiing thii2 eiither but ii dont a2k que2tiion2 when iit come2 two what 2he want2 ii ju2t get iit done and you can do what you want but thii2 ii2 what 2he told me two do

Eridan, of COURSE. They haven’t- HE, hasn’t- well it’s not that, he doesn’t WANT to, he’s trying so hard he really is,

TA: 2o ii mean like

Does it matter if he’s trying though? It’s not HAPPENING so why make excuses when he could- but he’s so BUSY all the time, and then,

TA: yeah

Oh no.

TA: KK?

That’s not a good feeling.

He, he has to do this. There’s not just, the want to make things a little bit more tidy, but it’s something a little deeper than that, this underlying THING, and he THOUGHT he had it all, because well, when you have the answer right in front of you and OH there’s this BIG reveal, they should reveal everything, right? This is like buying a game but they only give you half of it and the rest of it is repackaged in a DLC that you have to pay just as much for, but make it feelings instead. He has to do this.

CG: I’LL, I MEAN I GUESS I’LL GIVE IT A SHOT? BUT THERE’S NO GUARANTEE

TA: waiit doe2 that mean you actually talk two hiim

It’s,

CG: WHAT FUCKING BUSINESS IS IT OF YOURS IF YOU CAN’T QUIT BEING AN ASSHOLE TO HIM HUH? JUST SHUT YOUR MOUTH I’M DOING YOU A FAVOR. I SWEAR I CAN’T DO ONE THING WITHOUT BEING INTERROGATED

TA: okay fuck fiine whatevver thank2 ii wiill leave you alone now goodniight KK actually go two 2leep for once iin your liife iin2tead of depriiviing your2elf of iit becau2e you want tiime off

twinArmageddons [TA] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]

He’s trembling. _It’s the cold,_ he tells himself, _that’s all. A thicker sweater and you’ll be fine, you big baby. Make up some tea if it’s really bothering you that much._ Or he could get coffee, but without sleep, it’s not good to drive. Just some tea. Simple. Water in the kettle, and he can sit and listen to the sound of the running faucet, the way the handle squeaks slightly as he turns it...

No more putting it off, right? It’s time.

Now if, he could steady his hands...

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering caligulasAquarium [CA]

CG: HEY ERIDAN

Oh that is, that’s so weak. That’s just about the most pathetic excuse for a text to someone he hasn’t-

CG: YOU THERE?

THAT’S what he follows up with, huh? That’s like giving him a pack of saltines for dinner and then pushing a half full cup of water over and going ‘here, this should help you wash it down.’ It’s NOTHING! It’s _NOTHING,_ it’s bull SHIT! He can’t just give him THAT, can he?

But he, he can’t, his fingers lock up and his stomach twists in knots and there’s a bad feeling about this, it feels so bad, and yet. Despite that.

He hopes he picks up.

God, please pick up, please respond.

He’s, he’s asleep, that’s it. He’s in bed right now and he probably won’t pick up for another hour or two, given his schedule (it’s really 6:30 AM already? Gosh,) so he shouldn’t expect a response right away, right? Just, wait a while. It’ll be okay.

carcinoGeneticist[CG] began pestering grimAuxiliatrix [CG]

CG: HEY KANAYA I KNOW IT’S A LITTLE EARLY BUT I HAVE TO STAY UP WAITING FOR SOMETHING. MIND GIVING ME ONE OF YOUR FAVORITE SHOWS? MY WATCHLIST RAN OUT

He can’t take the silence, he can’t, the TV isn’t enough and even as he puts the kettle on the stove he’s just, he’s moving back and forth between Eridan’s window and Kanaya’s window, hoping there will be SOMEONE to talk to him, whether he’s dealing with, _that,_ right now, or talking to someone to distract himself for JUST a little bit. Texting Kanaya seems to have been a good choice when he watches the little green bubble pop up in his notifs.

GA: Well You Seem To Have Caught Me Just As I Was About To Go Back To Bed. Were You Bothered By Sollux As Well?

CG: OH SO YOU GOT ONE TOO, THEN. GREAT. I FEEL LESS SPECIAL.

GA: I Am Not Sure Why You Feel That Way As He Did Mention That He Only Had The Date After He Confirmed It Was A Decent Time For You

GA: But It Doesn’t Matter. You Said You Wanted A Show For Your Watchlist

CG: IT’D BE NICE IF WE COULD SKIP ALL THE FILLER TALK, THE MORE IT CLOGS UP MY SCHEDULE, THE LESS LIKELY IT IS THAT I’LL EVEN BE ABLE TO WATCH ANYTHING

GA: Stop Complaining You Are Free And Waiting And This Is The First Time You Have Contacted Me In A Bit I Might Be Milking It I Am Very Excited To Talk To You

Realistically, he COULD sit here and talk all he likes, and that’s kind of what he wants right now. What if he misses something? THAT, right there, is why he’s going to go ahead and binge TV instead, because TV is boring and it sucks and he’ll totally feel a notif if he gets one. If he’s not paying attention. Two shoddy plans away from winning stupidest bitch.

CG: WE CAN TALK LATER I PROMISE OKAY? I JUST NEED THIS REALLY QUICK

GA: I Have To Find Something On My Watchlist That Isn’t About Lesbians First

CG: HEY, LESBIANS ARE GREAT. I COULD WATCH A SHOW ABOUT LESBIANS

GA: I Haven’t Tested These Is The Problem. I Was Recommended Wynnona Earp Which Looks Interesting But If You Want To Watch It First Then Be My Guest. Do You Like Medical Dramas?

CG: MEDICAL WHAT?

GA: Nevermind. The Only Medical Drama I Think You Might Like Is House MD But I Am Not Sure If You Are Looking For That Or If You’re Looking For Something Else And I Don’t Watch Many Shows About MLM So I Cannot Properly Curate For You On That Front I Apologise

CG: IT’S OKAY, WLW IS HARD ENOUGH TO COME BY THESE DAYS ANYWAY SO LIKE, IT’S WHATEVER. SORRY STEVEN UNIVERSE WAS A BUST

GA: It Was Expected Though Adventure Time Made Up For It In Some Respects Especially As Something Not Primarily Made By Sugar. I Am Hoping That The New She-Ra Coming Out Next Year Will Be Better

GA: I Am Lamenting The Loss Of Non-Binary Lesbian Representation But Considering The Filler Episodes And The Very Soured Ending And Obvious Plot And Plot Holes Alike I Think Maybe It Was For The Best I Am Very Tired Of Gross People Being Allowed To Have Media Jobs

CG: YEAH IT. IT SUCKS

GA: It Does Indeed

GA: Before You Go Are You Remembering Your Sunscreen Karkat I Do Not Want You To Get Skin Cancer This Is Very Urgent

It’s like February, what does he need sunblock for? Of COURSE he wears it anyway, he’s not about to test the sun; he’s lucky he’s even allowed to be out during the day here on earth.

CG: YEAH? I REALLY ONLY NEED LIKE 30 SPF RIGHT

GA: I Recommend 50 SPF So Grab That On Your Next Grocery Run If You Would

Ugh, not another thing to buy. He isn’t BROKE. Yet. That yet is getting quieter every day though (looking at you, unpaid bill on the table that he still has to grab another hundred for. Good thing the company sends them early.)

CG: CAN I STILL USE THE 30 UP

GA: I Am Not A Monster Karkat Of Course You Can Any Protection Is Better Than No Protection And I Appreciate You Looking Out For Yourself Thank You

CG: SOMETIMES YOU’RE LIKE THE ONLY PERSON WHO ACTUALLY GIVES A SHIT EVEN THOUGH I FEEL LIKE YOU’RE MOTHERING ME A LITTLE

It’s, nice to feel cared about, even if it’s only for a few minutes a day. Kanaya really is so sweet.

GA: That Was Not Intentional. I Can See Why You Feel That Way I Am Sorry

CG: NO NEED TO APOLOGIZE. I WANNA GET TO WATCHING THIS SHOW THOUGH SO LIKE I’LL SEE YOU LATER, MAYBE TOMORROW IF YOU HAVE TIME?

GA: I Would Also Appreciate The Sleep Though I Am Interested In Talking At The Moment. I Hope You Enjoy My Sort Of Recommendations That Are More Like Throwing Darts At A Board Haphazardly And Hoping Something Sticks Don’t Blame Me If You Don’t Like Something

CG: ANYTHING’S ENOUGH. THANKS AGAIN, SLEEP WELL

GA: Thank You Karkat Good Morning Or Goodnight Depending On Whether You End Up Sleeping Or Not

carcinoGeneticist[CG] ceased pestering grimAuxiliatrix [CG]

Brighter and lighter, that’s how he feels, even if he knows it won’t stay. Back onto the couch he goes, SLIGHTLY TO THE LEFT this time, to see if they have this show on Netflix. House MD… it’s nice in Kanaya’s green, thinks it would sound like the way cursive feels to read if she said it aloud. House MD, House MD…

It’s not there when he types it in, so WHERE is it?

“Please don’t tell me I have to buy Hulu,” a futile prayer as he looks it up, and find that it is instead on Prime Video. It’s, it’s cheaper. He’s not sure he’s watching that other show without a decent review from Kanaya and she DID think this would be the one he’d like, if any, so. Amazon Video it is.

The bile gets stronger with every moment spent on the sign up screen, waiting for that violet bubble to pop into his notifs. Any time, now, really. Maybe in time to prevent him from making a huge purchasing mistake? No? He’s not that lucky? Okay.

It’s… good. Not the streaming service, the show; it’s really got some decent characters in it, his favorite, of course, being House. Seems fairly fleshed out and what a crazy bitch, too. The perfect guy to find in a bar and exchange a drink for a story or two, but not necessarily who you’d wanna be caught drunk with. GREAT doctor, skewed practices, sometimes, good motives. It’d be, really great if he could actually enjoy this right now (Kanaya has got good taste, as expected, so point for him.)

If, he could enjoy this right now. One, two, three episodes, and then another three, and this whole time, the pit in his stomach grows, this whole time, the phone in his hand is still. How long? _How long,_ he thinks, _has it been since I texted him?_ It’s light out right now, so it’s been at least a few hours, but it’s a bigger question than that, isn’t it? How long has it REALLY been since the last time he texted Eridan?

He can’t take this anymore, can’t take the waiting, it’ll kill him.

When he opens his phone, just to check; 10 AM. There, plain as day, right in front of him, and while for anyone else, this would be normal...

"It's been four hours.” And he, still, hasn’t replied…? 

Right. Okay, it's happened before, but it's a little worrying. Still, maybe he's just doing something right now- he could be, right? Or still asleep! It’s not bad, it’s not bad, he just has to wait a little longer, is all.

Wait for how long, again? Until Eridan logs back on? So, when he hasn’t even been logged in for three weeks, straight, what’s the likelihood he’s going to pick that phone up again?

“Alright. Okay. We’re fine. It’s fine.”

Is it, Karkat? What are you forgetting that you still have yet to remember, because it’s probably a lot. How long has it been, Karkat, since the last time you texted Eridan?

“Oh, Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit on 1/22/2021: HEY THERE! So remember when I said I was rewriting chapters? Well, you see. I wasn't lying. I hope you enjoy this one better than the first one, I thought it flowed a lot better, first one was pretty stagnant and boring and garbage. The old version is archived just so I remember my mistakes (and so I don't actually lose that time that I spent writing it.) CHAPTER TWO'S EDIT IS COMING NEXT, AND THEN I'LL WORK SOME MORE ON CHAPTER 14!!! It's REALLY important that chapter two flows well with this new rewrite because oh god is it stinky garbage and I KNOW it's gonna clash with this first chapter, so hold your horses! Everyone have a lovely day, I am SORRY this kind of came without warning but it IS AO3 and since Trump's presidency is no longer a thing (thank GOD) I have fresher eyes and more energy to do things, even if it's only a little bit extra.


	2. Bad Ideas

_It’s none of his business what Eridan chooses to do with his time_ , he thinks. _Why does he need to get involved in everyone else’s shit when it’s not good for anyone and he doesn’t even enjoy it anyway?_ Eridan has every right to be reserved regardless of whether anyone believes they are entitled to his presence. What SHOULD Karkat have expected? It’s not like he checked before he sent anything (as if that would have made a difference but now he’s making an ass of himself) so why did he think, REALLY, why did he think he’d get a reply within four hours? Can no one else be busy in his stupid little brain? Just Karkat? Karkat’s the only one allowed to be occupied with ANYTHING apparently, and everyone has to drop their shit just to cater to him and HIS wants and needs and if they don’t do it when HE wants them to-

“Ohmygod shut up it’s not _about you,”_ grumbled through grit teeth, jaw so tight it could pop off its hinges. Nails dig into thick callouses, knuckles crackle under pressure. It’s not about him. He’s making it about him. He needs to _quit it_ before he ends up doing some stupid shit that’ll make a mess of everything and fuck shit up beyond repair. _Quit. it. QUIT it,_ again and again and again and it loops and loops and _he’s_ looping, around, and around, circling the couch like an animal that’s slowly developed severe neurosese from being caged up in a pen barely bigger than itself with no stimulus, like if he stops he’ll _stop,_ like, _really_ stop, like maybe even die but that’s dramatic he’s being dramatic right? Is his heartbeat supposed to be that loud? You’re not supposed to feel it at the bridge of your nose, right? Like that’s not a thing. He’s fucked. He should call someone, he should get some help, he-

is being a huge baby. This isn’t going to help anyone even if it’s not like he can HELP his feelings so, breathe. Slow, deep, steady. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven in, and, how many out? His lungs don’t feel full. Aren’t they supposed to be full? Of course it’s his lungs that don’t work because why would he get any functioning organs, he gets to lose the goddamn genetic lottery twice over and suffer the absolute bullshit that is living and breathing and giving a goddamn shit about anything. The soles of his feet feel slightly raw and they get more raw with the way they drag against the textured carpet but it’s not because it’s not SOFT, is it? That’s some nice carpet. Maybe he should lay down. Maybe he should take some time to lay on the carpet and stare up at the ceiling for a few minutes. If he could just, like, if he could _stop wearing holes in his nice carpet-_

Slow. Deep. Steady. One, two, three, four… f, five, the air burns going in just as hot as the tips of his ears, the reddened palms of his hands riddled with indents from his nails. Calm down. Calm. _Down._ Why does he keep breathing if it hurts so much? Why does he try to take in more air than his lungs can even hold? One, two,

“You’re not _helping_ anything,” he spits at himself, under his heavy breath, so small you wouldn’t hear it if it weren’t so sharp and sour. “Sit the fuck down on the couch and collect your goddamn thoughts for a minute before you go and make yourself pass out like an idiot.” An idiot with a terrible habit of grabbing the nearest sugary slosh when he’s anxious, which is why it’s a miracle he doesn’t pace right into the kitchen and over to the fridge to grab another sprite despite having like half a can open already- oh no? That IS something he does? Okay, cool. He’s already had his stupid little pity party over sprite so he doesn’t need to go through that again and maybe the sting isn’t so terrible this time when he downs the entire can in one go, crushing the sides to ‘get the extra out’ but it’s really because he has to squeeze down on SOMETHING and better for it to be a ‘disposable’ aluminum can than anything that’s actually precious to him. The sharp edges put pressure on his skin, cool metal, too.

So maybe that wasn’t so bad. Did it hurt? Yes. But it might have actually been for the better, since it’s distracted him just long enough to pull himself out of his panic spiral (a little, not much,) and turn on the light. He seethes; the light cuts deep, even though there’s already natural light filtering in (maybe he should turn it back off…) and god, that’s a headache, isn’t it? Head throbbing, eyes dry and heavy, body almost limp against the wall while he takes another moment to breathe and maybe close his eyes just a little bit.

How long, _has_ it been? It can’t be that bad, surely. It feels like it’s maybe been a few months at most; he knows that he at LEAST sat down with the intention to message him (so it probably ate at him until he managed to stop being chicken and do it, OR until it made him throw up and then text him at three am apologizing for literally nothing because people who are sleep deprived don’t make sense and do not know how to make decisions.) Now that he’s got more of a head on him (barely,) he feels kinda stupid over freaking out because it’s taking him what, three? Four hours? And sure, there’s no message _yet,_ but if they’ve talked more recently there should be motive to answer-

But life can’t give him good things. Past Karkat can’t give _anyone_ good things, because as he goes in, and scrolls up, that nauseating flutter in his gut crunches his insides like glass and spreads through his chest, his throat, 

And he can mark the exact date that he completely fucking murdered their relationship,

By not responding for NOT one,

But TWO. **_TWO_ ** **YEARS.**

“Well no fucking wONDER he isn’t ANSWERING you, _dickhead,”_ who would? Who would answer him? He’s missed an entire sweep’s worth of time- well he might still have time, right? Maybe he’ll catch it in the last month or something- IS WHAT SOMEONE HAS THE RIGHT TO SAY IF THEY ACTUALLY KNOW THEY’LL BE THERE FOR IT, AND SO FAR, EVEN SOLLUX MIGHT HAVE A BETTER TRACK RECORD THAN KARKAT. He swears he marked it down on his calendar that, isn’t, here anymore, unless he’s stashed it in the drawer? He kept last year’s calendar on there so maybe the year before has his sweep written in the notes…

It’s hopeless, really. Scrambling through a junk drawer of papers that have been useless for less time than he has just to see if he’s really as terrible as he thinks he is, over something he should have cared about more when it mattered, instead of when it was too late. There’s crumpling and wrinkling of well-kept (but battered and scribbled thin) sheets, some come flying out, and then there’s this tear sound that has his blood run cold for a split second before he realizes he’s not even going to use that paper anymore so who the fuck cares? He should have found the calendar by now, right? It’s gone. It has to be. So why does he keep digging anyway? Does he REALLY think he’s going to find-

“HA!” suck it, brain, there it is, in all its beat up glory. A two year old calendar when his notes were neater and he wasn’t so fucking tired all the time. Closing date on the purchase of his house, the day he went in to get his garbage set up- did he really have to set up his power TWICE? It looks like he wasn’t even mad about it… there’s Feferi’s next sweep written down there, Eridan’s has got to be just a little bit before, so he flips back a page, and then another,

And goddamnit, it was that year, just a few weeks after they stopped talking.

How fucking horrid can you get?

“Oh you son of a bitch,” and he’s right to say it. The kicker, the REAL kicker, is that right up until this month on the calendar, Eridan’s calendar would have looked _so_ similar, not because they bought houses at the same time,

but because Eridan helped him buy the fucking house, and by that, he really means threw money at him to get whatever house he wanted, and then helped him pick a better one when he got ‘the bare minimum’ which, apparently having one more room than a single room and a living space/kitchen isn’t enough, and then he busted ass to make sure the seller didn’t fucking stiff him, and THEN he threw more money at him to go get shit to fill the house with. Every single thing to do with this goddamn house on this calendar, Eridan was there for EVEN WHEN KARKAT COULDN’T BE, by the way, (which, how did ERIDAN know what he was supposed to do if he didn’t know how this worked, either? It’s like he’d actually bought one on Earth before, but he was still living in an apartment while Karkat was getting shit figured out…) and then, to make the knife REALLY cut deep, like, if Karkat wasn’t already butchered, at this point,

The guy threw MORE money at him for his first year of college, AND living expenses, because ‘Kar it’s barely anythin’ I literally havve so much fuckin’ money wwould y’PLEASE stop bein’ a goddamn wwriggler an’ take th’fuckin’ cash already? I can’t spend it all myself an’ you’re actually puttin’ it t’good use.’ Oh but where’s your cash NOW rich boy??? Huh??? Better pull out your investment book and just fucking tear out the page where you planned this one because where the FUCK is your cash now. If Karkat were any more of an ungrateful, parasitic piece of shit-

They barely saw each other. They didn’t even see each other’s _faces,_ they just… talked. On the phone. He made dates and they couldn’t go at the same hours and sure, Eridan was there! He made it to every single fucking thing on this dastardly calendar and more, he kept communication open, spent so much of his time on Karkat. So, much of his time. It never mattered what he was doing, either, because if Karkat dialed in he’d set it all down just to make sure Karkat understood he wasn’t _ignoring_ him. Answered questions, did extra research Karkat didn’t have time for, bought his _fucking house_ and made sure it was in Karkat’s name and everything.

Of course Eridan wouldn’t reply. Of fucking course. It would have been LOGICAL to block him, and to be fair, Karkat thought that’s maybe what happened the first hour, until he remembered that Trollian actually explicitly tells you when someone blocks you, as a ‘fuck you’ type of thing (and like even though Pesterchum and Trollian merged a while back Pesterchum’s block message was even worse in some respects, so he doubts they got rid of that.) Eridan’s at least more courteous in that respect. Blocking him might have made it easier on both of them, though, because Karkat can almost guarantee that if he isn’t awake already, he’s going to have one shitty morning thanks to whatever the FUCK Karkat has set up for the both of them here. LEave someone, on READ, for fucking two years??? Two fucking years and he doesn’t even reply to him? Just asks him if he’s THERE?

Karkat was supposed to be the one who was good at this. Eridan said it himself. He was _the_ best at keeping contact with him, and in some cases, the only _one_ to keep contact with him. What he THOUGHT was a few months ago but he knows now was two years ago, everyone kept tabs on Eridan’s life through Karkat, _if they bothered at all,_ that is. Sollux JUST asked him to invite Eridan. That’s why this whole thing started, isn’t it? Karkat was supposed to be the one who was good at this, and yet here he fucking is. He can’t even properly invite Eridan to an event after two, FUCKING YEARS. Of SILENCE. And after years, _years_ of wondering every single fucking day if this is the day he’s gonna kick the bucket, if something is gonna get him, for Eridan to be the one to help him out of that spot, and not a word since Karkat stopped talking to him,

“UGH. What the FUCK.” What the fuck??? What the FUCK! IS! WRONG! WITH HIM! Take a cleaver to his neck to put him out of his self-made misery. Jaw clenched so tightly it makes this awful snapping pop, so tight his teeth feel uncomfortably squeaky against each other, that the pain worsens his headache until he’s got tunnel vision. He scribbled it so excitedly. He was planning on it, he swears- ‘it slipped his mind’ is the easy way out.

What happened? What, happened? Why is he here, right now, even giving a single shit about this when clearly, he didn’t before?

Mouth aching and shredded to bits from all the jaw clenching and cheek chewing, throat tasting of bile, struggling to stay up in his chair with his _useless_ wobbly arms that feel so brittle they’d shatter if he picked the calendar up again. How does he explain carelessness to himself so that he doesn’t have to live with the guilt? ‘Planning on it.’ ‘Slipped his mind.’ Forgetfulness, lapse in memory, huh? For this long? Memory issues, because he was ‘busy.’ A pitiful excuse for his ungratefulness, and if he chooses to forget about it this time, to walk away? To stuff the calendar back in his drawer and do _nothing?_ Live life as normal?

Here’s the big question: is Karkat going to let himself get away with this, and if he does, will he even feel guilty for it?

 _Do I even feel guilty,_ he asks himself, as he gets up from his seat and circles around his table like a starving wolf pitifully following small game with wiry, fragile limbs, pathetic gait and all, _do I feel guilty?_ Does he feel guilty? How does one tell they feel guilty? Is the stomach acid cutting away at his chest enough? Is it enough when his muscles bruise themselves from the stress of fucking up so terribly? Is, not wanting to face him really guilt, or is it selfishness? If he were here right now, what would he do? He’d say he’s sorry, but is that to clear HIS consience, or to apologise?

Soft, raw feet (socks? He forgot if he was wearing socks or not,) thudding against tile, the bones in the pads grinding with the weight of his body as he starts again. Lap one, and he’s on guilt. It’s guilt, right? But is it, is it really, by the end of lap two, is it really? Is doing it to be a decent person enough, does doing it because he should have cared enough?

He hasn’t gone to bed lately. Hasn’t answered his phone like he should, lately. Like he’s expecting something to be waiting for him, expecting something to be there, and was it the weight of his unbearingly selfish decision, his egocentric guilt, his _hubris_ failing to bring him something, or was it… more, than this? What was he expecting? Is there a weight, or is it a lack, of something?

Is it both?

How does he find out? Does he go ahead and turn towards his room, sit and see? Lay there for hours again trying to figure shit _out?_ Does he sit there for the rest of the week and watch as messages pop onto his screen and never open them because they’re not the ones he’s looking for? Does he ignore important calls, unable to answer, emotionally incapacitated? He has all the time in the world- all the time he’ll ever manage to get like this, anyway, and he could take it, try to figure the rest out, dedicate the rest of his time to sorting out whether it’s one or the other or neither or both, or he could just, own up to it anyway, regardless, and figure it out later. So is he a coward, then? Does he care, or does he not care? Is he _really_ sorry?

What if he tries anyway and it’s as unfixable as he thinks it is? What if he goes over there, and he says all the right things, and he does it perfect. More perfect than he KNOWS he’ll be able to manage, and it all blows up in his face anyway? What if they’re really not friends, anymore? What if, he doesn’t, _want hi-_

Stomach churning, throat fluttering and pushing up air and he can _taste_ it on his breath, grabbing onto the edge of the table so he doesn’t fall over. The light does nothing, anymore, to brighten the room any extra, just poke holes in his eyes when he stares up at it, lay blind spots like heat transfer foil. What if? What, if? If, though, because he can walk away, still. Does he? So telling, that he can't stand because it's an issue with _him._ What if he doesn't want- what. If. It's all about getting rejected, because Karkat can't handle it. Does he even bother with an apology that's for his own good, and does he care at all, really? Because he wants to, even if he doesn't. Make, a, decision, Karkat.

Doesn’t Eridan at least deserve the right to tell him what he feels in person, regardless of whether Karkat can handle those feelings or not?

How can he say anything about Eridan when he doesn’t really _know_ him?

Here’s the problem; Karkat likes to make choices for other people, regardless of how they end up. So he’ll go over there, and he’ll apologize, poorly and half-assed, even if he hasn’t thought about it before and solidified a proper apology that addresses things that truly need to be addressed, and then Eridan can decide what to do with him, or Eridan can shut him down before he gets the apology out of himself. He can figure out the details after he’s already done everything and regretted every single second of it, because he doesn’t _think_ until it’s too late.

Problem: no address.

Already, his plan proves useless. No address, no showing up, no talking. Where can he get one, though? Is he going to stalk the internet for hours until he finds out too much about a friend he doesn’t talk to and might not even be FRIENDS with anymore and be extremely creepy, more than he’s already going to be by fetching their address?

That is exactly what he is going to do.

Neck struggling to keep up his incredibly empty head, shaking fingers barely accurate enough to get the words out. Chewing on the inside of his lip again until he tastes iron, harder with every letter he types out. Every letter he doesn’t want to type out. Isn’t it awful, what he’s doing? ‘Eridan Ampora’ into the search bar, all he has to do is press enter and ultimately invade someone’s life once again because he can’t keep his stupid fucking feelings to himself, can he? Eyes flick to the search bar, to his hands, to that enter key, spinning, rolling around in his head, the search bar carving itself into the back of his brain, ‘Eridan Ampora’ all over his neurons, right underneath the Google logo, too. _Am I ever going to stop seeing it, if I look at that disgustingly inoffensive logo again_ , is what he’d be able to say if he hadn’t already forgot about it, so he can just shut _up and get it over with already._

It only takes his pinky about three fumbles with the shift bar to manage the enter key. Well done! Fucked up less than he could have. It’s also more than he could have, but that’s not really what matters,

As searching Eridan’s name brings up _nothing._

As he deserves, for even thinking about it in the first place.

“Fuck,” he really has _nothing?_ No one to connect to? _Does he do it all through his phone or something,_ a thought he really isn’t allowed to have, _doesn’t he have, like, a job that requires him to have an identity?_ Something he ALSO has no right to know, but maybe, if he can search up his jo-

… Wait.

“My, fucking HOA.”

God bless his incompetent ass and ultimate failure to close his HOA tab after almost six months of not using it, because Karkat does not pay for his HOA fees, which means Eridan does. Karkat has full access to his HOA account, which includes all of the information to that account.

Address. Address, address, where is it, come on he’s BEEN in this tab, he should have seen it before, he should have remembered it, address, _address,_ ADDRESS- _click off,_ some rationale, _can’t you give him something for once? Leave him alone after everything you’ve done to him?_ The click of his mouse button stabs at the back of his optic nerves, spine twinging like some detached spasming limb. Address, address-

 _Holy SHIT, it’s really here,_ in black, arial font, right underneath his name, which he thought had been wiped completely. Blessed with every opportunity to ruin a life, and that’s exactly what he’s going to do with this decision, he thinks, because this is not a good decision. Spokane, but like, the outskirts where most people don’t really live, close to the mountains but not the mountain community. Shit, that’s like, HOURS away but, but he can manage, right?

And now, for the one thing he could not have calculated for, because he’s stupid.

Karkat needs a car.

How is he supposed to manage without a car?

There is only one person available with a car.

He is hoping to fucking hell and back that he and his car are available.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering terminallyCapricious[TC]

CG: HEY GAMZEE?

Considering wait times today, he should probably- oh no that’s pretty immediate actually. Something going like, actually kind of right for him maybe? Maybe? He doesn’t DESERVE it but he’ll take it.

TC: HeY kArKat. WhAt’S uP?

CG: SO THIS IS GOING TO SOUND ABSOLUTELY FUCKING CRAZY, BUT I NEED A RIDE TO ERIDAN’S HOUSE LIKE, RIGHT NOW. I THINK. I THINK RIGHT NOW? OR LIKE, WHENEVER YOU GET TIME TODAY IS FINE BUT LIKE IDEALLY IT WOULD BE RIGHT NOW

TC: OkAy, HoLd ThE fUcK uP. I tHoUgHt ErIdAn WaS lIvInG iN aN aPaRtMeNt SiNcE hE tHoUgHt A hOuSe WaS tOo BiG fOr JuSt HiMsElF

CG: THAT’S WHY HE WAS LIVING IN AN APARTMENT?

TC: WeLl He DiDn’T wAnT tO tAkE uP eXtRa SpAcE hE dIdN’t HaVe To BuT i’M gUeSsInG tHaT wAs EiThEr A lIe Or He ChAnGeD hIs MiNd Or MaYbE hE tHoUgHt He WaS cRoWdInG tHe ApArTmEnT sPaCe Or WhAtEvEr

… Well, maybe he still lives in an apartment? Or maybe he was just telling Gamzee a load of bullshit, or maybe it’s not as clear cut because he doesn’t _know Eridan like he thinks-_

TC: WaIt A gOdDaMn SeCoNd

TC: HaVeN’t YoU tWo BeEn No CoNtAcT fOr AbOuT aS lOnG aS hE aNd EvErYoNe ElSe HaVe BeEn?

Oh jesus fucking christ so everyone ELSE knew but he just had to figure it out now? How fucking, STUPID,

CG: PLEASE DO NOT REMIND ME OF HOW SHITTY I AM I JUST SPENT LIKE TWENTY MINUTES BEATING MYSELF UP FOR IT I CAN’T TAKE THIS SHIT RIGHT NOW I HAVE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT

TC: HoW dId YoU gEt HiS nEw AdDrEsS?

CG: OHMYGOD CAN WE NOT ASK QUESTIONS PLEASE? AT LEAST NOT LIKE

CG: I MEAN IT WASN’T LIKE I DID ANYTHING ILLEGAL

HIGHLY QUESTIONABLE, maybe, but it’s, not illegal.

Right?

TC: DoN’t InCrImInAtE yOuRsElF iN mY mEsSaGeS KaRkAt. We’Ll HaVe To TaLk AbOuT iT lAtEr

TC: BuT mAyBe If YoU dIdN’t GeT iT fRoM hIm It WoUlD bE a GoOd IdEa To LiKe NoT gO oVeR sO yOu DoN’t MaKe HiM uNcOmFoRtAbLe Or AnYtHiNg

CG: YOU LITERALLY DON’T UNDERSTAND. I HAVE TO DO THIS. LIKE, I KNOW I SHOULDN’T BUT IF I GET ARRESTED OR IF HE PUTS A RESTRAINING ORDER ON ME THAT’S ON ME

CG: HM. READING THE WORD RESTRAINING ORDER, THIS IS PROBABLY WORSE THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE WHEN I CAME UP WITH IT IN THE FIRST PLACE

CG: BUT I DON’T CARE OKAY I’M STICKING TO MY FUCKING GUNS ON THIS ONE EVEN IF I END UP IN PRISON AND LIKE, HAVE MY LABOR EXPLOITED FOR THE REST OF MY SHORT AND MISERABLE LIFE BECAUSE THE PRISON SYSTEM HERE IS KIND OF WORSE THAN ON ALTERNIA ACTUALLY WE SHOULD PROBABLY GET THAT CHECKED KIND OF BUT IT DOESN’T MATTER THAT’S OFF TOPIC

CG: I’M DOING THIS. LIKE I KNOW YOU’RE TRYING TO LOOK OUT FOR ME BECAUSE YOU LOVE ME DEARLY AS I LOVE YOU

CG: <> BY THE WAY

TC: <>

CG: BUT I HAVE TO DO THIS. LIKE, IF I DON’T DO THIS I THINK I MIGHT EXPLODE OR SOMETHING

CG: AS SHITTILY WRITTEN AND LACKING IN ELOQUENCE AS THAT IS IT MIGHT AS WELL BE TRUE. I DON’T KNOW I THINK SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH ME THAT ISN’T FIXABLE BY MY THERAPIST

TC: ThErApIsTs HaVe ThErApIsTs?

CG: SOMETIMES THEY HAVE THERAPISTS THAT THEY CAN’T FUCKING PAY FOR BECAUSE THEY’RE FUCKING BROKE BUT YES. THEY HAVE THERAPISTS

TC: I mEaN i’Ll PaY fOr YoUr ThErApY

CG: NO YOU WON’T BECAUSE I WON’T LET YOU

TC: OkAy

CG: SO ABOUT THAT RIDE?

TC: SoRrY KaRkAt, I cAn’T lEt YoU dO tHiS

TC: EvEn If I wAnTeD tO lEt YoU gEt ArReStEd, I cAn’T. tAvRoS hAd An EpIsOdE tHiS mOrNiNg AnD i ToOk OfF wOrK aT tHe OfFiCe To stAy HoMe WiTh HiM. wE’rE iN tHe MiDdLe Of BaKiNg RiGhT nOw

CG: OH SHIT. I’M SO SORRY. TELL TAVROS I SAID HI THEN

TC: YoU’Re AlRiGhT, aNd I wIlL

CG: UM, I GUESS I’LL LET YOU GO. WHAT ABOUT LATER THOUGH?

TC: NaH. i ReAlLy CaN’t AfFoRd To LoSe My MoIrAiL aNd LoNgEsT sTaNdInG fRiEnD tO tHe SyStEm. SoRrY kArKaT

CG: DAMNIT. OKAY, FINE. WELL. I LOVE YOU. <> HAVE A GOOD DAY

TC: LoVe YoU tOo MaN. HoPe ShIt GeTs BeTtEr <>

carcinoGeneticist [CG] stopped pestering terminallyCapricious [TC]

So the car is out of the question.

IF he was less busy (once again he is making excuses, as one does,) he would have his own car. Managing the time to get a license with school and a job… it’s hard (he tells himself, as he makes time to hang out with his friends regardless of whether he wants to or not,) and he doesn’t, really have the money right now for a car anyway (actually not an excuse this time! Does not make it less shitty.) He’s also too stubborn to wait for an opening becaues this has to happen NOW according to his brain and the arbitrary rules surrounding this situation that has already waited two years to be solved but NO it has to be solved TODAY because tomorrow is too hard on his conscience. Despicable.

What next, then?

Come on, does he REALLY give a shit if he can’t find a solution despite not having a car? There’s gotta be SOME way over there, maybe there’s a bus (across Washington State? Not without a bjillion and a half stops, and does he really have time to look?) or maybe there’s not a bus. At least, not one that he cares about right now, so that’s off the list. _Okay, idiot, new plan; how are YOU going to get yourself over there, without spending money that is unneccessary, because you are not getting an uber or a lyft because Money Bad and you’re not spending money on your own comfort and ease, Dipped Shit._

Maybe, if he looks hard enough in his house, where there is _nothing,_ he will magically make something appear right in front of him, like when he was in a video game with mechanics that benefited his cruel and undeserving nature, and rewarded him for killing things- which, of course, he was too useless to do anyway, so he didn’t even get to play around with that mechanic. God, everything about him spells ‘waste of flesh’ and not even in the edgy aesthetic way, huh? What a fucking joke. Another bout of self-pity that only wastes his time. Yeesh.

Funnily enough, while he was wasting time thinking to himself, he was actually walking around the house, but what a way to not register what his body is physically doing, huh? So up in the clouds, he wouldn’t notice if he walked into a knife (lucky for him, he did no such thing.) His brain, in all its mushy, horrid glory, led him right to the garage,

Where he stops. And he looks, right across the startlingly vacant and dull concrete, to an exceptionally dusty bike leaning against the wall, untouched for so long, just like his DMs. And, he would imagine, the bike is looking back at him, as much as an inanimate object can look back at someone. ‘How dare you neglect me, you utter piece of shit. I’m one of the only things you own that can get you places, and you completely forget about me until it’s convenient for you, because your friends are kind people who are willing to take you places. God, you were really thinking of being a burden a few minutes ago, weren’t you?’

He in fact, was, but he hadn’t necessarily thought about it that way, either, and god, poor Gamzee, huh? The empty pit in his stomach bubbles up to his chest, his body feels too heavy for the concrete under him to hold.

Well, at least he’ll have enough time to think about his apology on the way over, right?


	3. Nevada

The long stretch of nothingness. Dry, and cold, yet not a single speck of snow lies on the cracked, barren earth. The tar of the road is bleached a light gray, weathered with light, and with time. Yellows, oranges, and reds bleed through the clouds, as the sun, dyed red with something, perhaps the blood of those left in the dust, begins to fall under the horizon. A wasteland where nothing is, and nothing ever has been. The desert soil is still. An eerie calm follows as he continues to drive down a forgotten road, to a forgotten place that might only ever show up at 4 am on a Thursday morning, with lights that flicker as if there is something there with him. Esoteric feelings course through him like static. There's always a small bit of adrenaline, of nervousness. It prickles. It fogs his head, too, stuffs it full of white noise and bright lights. He doesn't dare lay back in his seat, not here, not now. There's too much to see, too much to feel.

He absorbs everything, trying to decode the cryptic messages written upon the earth, the ones hidden deep within him.

The sunset makes his feelings swell like crashing waves upon a beach, ebbing, and flowing, pushing and pulling the sand. He's never really learned how to deal with these. Every time he tries, maybe to identify them, maybe to fix what little structure he has left of them, they melt away through the gaps in his fingers, only to come back to slither into his throat and lungs for him to choke on again. He hates them. They never really leave, instead stick to the insides of his organs and slick over his ribs, gunk up the spaces in his body cavity with thick, black, heavy emotion. Heavy thoughts. Thoughts made of steel cotton candy, weighed down with iron bars and chains, grating the inside of his skull. His eyes hurt. He catches a glimpse of them in the mirror; bright violet on yellow. Reddened, and puffy, and so, _so_ dry. His cheeks aren't in much better shape, the salty tear stains have dried in such a way that his skin almost breaks like the ground that rolls beneath the wheels of his car. Dust clings to the wet parts of his face, and he appears ashen, almost baked. Like rough clay. A muddy brown, on top of the ever-paling violet-gray of his skin, and with such, yellow eyes...

He's disgusting. Inside, and out, and even the puffiest parts of his cheeks are sunken in with pain and grief over things he shouldn't be grieving about. But he's working on himself, he promises.

These drives are so good for that. They really, really are.

His heart weeps, an offbeat melody played by a music box plucking at broken teeth, and the hollow cracks in the earth echo back, whisper stories of those who have passed along this road to the deepest parts of his being. Metal combs grate at the muscle underneath his skin until they cut away enough to make him feel piecless. He feels his pulse throb in his ears. Hears it. It's something he can't quite wrap his feelings around, because he's not quite sure he likes the sound, or the feeling. But a broken heart that beats is better than a heart run cold and empty. He's still singing. To him, it matters. That's enough.

Even if no one else cares, that's enough.

A glare from his mirror blinds him for a moment and his head shrieks with pain, a hand weakly reaches to adjust it. Things shouldn't have to hurt this much, he thought he was done hurting, that he had moved on from everything and realized it was his fault, after all. His therapist certainly isn't doing a good job of convincing him he's actually right, but that's not why he hired his therapist. He hired his therapist to help fix him, and that's what they're gonna do together, even if it means they disagree on things.

He needs to not think about it. That's, why he went on this drive, right? To get his mind off things, to grind his thoughts into the asphalt and let the light wash away his tears. A long stretch from Washington to Georgia, and then back again. His favorite stretch of land, as it is, minus the east coast, but he'll get to that another time, when he's not homesick. He's on his way home. He's almost there, and then maybe he can let himself think about all the things he regrets. It's loathing, too, but all loathing is coated in layers upon layers of what could have been, everything he could have done, everything he didn't, _have,_ to do, or. _Shouldn't,_ have done. Everything he wishes he could give. All of the things he could ever hope to take back.

The sun leaves him to drive alone in the dark expanse of Nevada, content with unraveling its only companion. The darkness can be terrifying, but tonight, it soothes him. The unique bite of charred dirt and frigid winter air burns his lungs, nips at his skin. With his headlights only being able to illuminate so far in front of him, he drives. He drives into the nothingness. Drives into a world lost to a liminal rift in space, over a threshold of eyes that were never there, that never existed. A tiny leaf, swallowed by an ocean of empty black. He is alone. Always, in Nevada, he is alone.

And yet, he feels he is being watched. Always, he is being watched. Whether it be the hidden eyes of a creature ready to swallow him whole the moment he blinks, or the eyes that follow behind him from the past to burn holes in his skin.

He drives into the abyss, and further, still, until he reaches a small building made of concrete. An aluminum roof that never rusts barely sits on top, and the one light in front of the door always flickers. He's tried, really, to fix it, but no matter how many lightbulbs he puts in, no matter how many wires he replaces, it refuses to shine strong. The door is not there. Something must have taken it with them.

Carefully, now, as to not wake whatever is lurking, he steps in and curls into the corner of the shed as deep and as empty as the rest of the unknown, leaving himself at the mercy of whatever might come to take him into the night.

* * *

Nevada, while a hellscape of illusions and looming dread, passed him by two days ago. Ten more minutes, just a drive up this mountain, and he'll be back home.

The air smells of wet soil and plant matter, crackles with static. A smooth gray, steel blue in nature, blankets the sky, breathes melancholy into his veins, his chest. The rain. God, he loves the rain. It makes him feel... alive. Not like he's barely surviving, or clinging to the last shred of hope he's managed to find in his heart. It makes him feel like he's living. Really living, like he has people to talk to and places to be and the only thing that's holding him back is the freezing sheet of water that glazes his stairs.

People to talk to. Friends. That's what burns his bloodpusher in all the worst ways to think about. He feels like he can do nothing to make everything up to them and yet, he yearns for reconciliation, or at least some sort of closure. Something. Anything but the ongoing wondering about whether or not he has anyone left. Those who hold contact with him despise him, they'd rather eat a bag of garbage than talk to him. And who could blame them? All he's ever done for anyone is fuck things up royally, in the most stuck up and irrational fashion possible. He can't take pride in being himself anymore. Not now, not ever, no matter how he improves. Why he improves. Growing as a person, though it's something he can do now, won't change what's already too late to change, and the best it can do is put a tiny little circle bandaid over the gaping wound he's left everyone. Those who hold contact with him, are incredibly gracious. Sollux and Vriska shouldn't even have to bother with his shit and yet they do, on their own accord, even if it's to kick the dirt in his face. It's what he deserves, but it gets hard to deal with sometimes. He tries to take it as constructive criticism, though he's nothing like who he used to be - at least, he thinks so.

If he was anything like he used to be, he doesn't think he'd have lived to see the morning.

Like he'd even deserve to.

He pulls into the garage, opens the trunk to grab his bags of groceries. He's been gone for so long, and he had to clear out his fridge before he left, or things would have become absolutely filthy, and he can't ever have that. It's time to restock, just like it's time for him to move on and start anew. Get away from all that used to be. Thrive.

It's lonely here by himself. He thought about getting a cat, but he found out he was allergic. He also thought about getting a dog, which he found he likes more than cats anyway, but with all of the time he spends out of the house (and out of state,) he'd never be able to give it the love it would need and deserve. Dogs deserve all the love. Every single bit of it, because they have so much love to give out, and all they ask for in return is to be cared for and loved back. It would be good for him to get a companion, but to do that, he'd have to change his lifestyle a little bit. He'll see what he can do about cutting down road trips. He did plan to change things, after all.

He struggles with all the bags, being as weak as he is, but he manages to get them all in after a few trips. He grabbed as many as he could, but he's not as big as he'd thought he'd turn out to be - if he has some growing to do, that'd shock the shit out of him, because he hasn't grown an inch since he was fifteen - so his handful on either side amounts to five plastic bags, three paper ones, or two cloth bags. Eridan shops with paper or cloth. Fuck plastic bags. Fuck them to hell, with how thin and surprisingly durable they are, when stuck, how hard it is to pull them out of small spaces, how hard it is to get them out of his gills -

Anyway. He shops with paper or cloth, but he has a lot of plastic bag projects; he collects bags from places they really shouldn't be. Beaches, forests, lakes, rivers, national parks, the works. Even public places and roads. So far he's managed to make literal clothing out of the plastic, but with his, _aversion,_ to it, he can never bring himself to wear it. He sells it instead. Much better for someone else to use that shit than have it lying around in his house for longer than it should be. He's also got lots of glass shards that he tumbles into sea glass and either makes stuff with, or sells as is. Better to have someone admire it than let it stab into someone's foot. Can you imagine the blood? Some poor soul having to go through that pain, and then some poor shark being tricked into thinking there was food nearby, and inevitably being killed because it nibbled at someone. Fuck, man, that's a shitty way to go. Sea creatures should only be dying if they're gonna become some other creature's food, because that's life. Things gotta eat.

Eridan, too, has to eat, so after he's done putting away groceries, he pulls out his takeout sushi from the container and places it on his bath tray. He feels like he's allowed some time to relax, after all of the exhausting hours of driving and emotional and mental shit he's had to comb through. A cup of tea, a nice book, and a few sweets later, and he's off to get the water running and bubbly.

It helps to ease his sore muscles and joints. He didn't know people didn't, normally feel like this, and when the very confused but highly professional earth doctor told him about all the shit he had, he laughed. But then the alternian doctor told him the same thing, so maybe humans and trolls aren't too different from each other. He works with it. He has so many things to deal with already that as long as he's up and walking that day he's doing as much as he can to be productive and enjoy himself. He loves his doctors (not in a creepy way,) they do more for him than anyone else.

Except for, Karkat.

Oh, Karkat. Goddamnit, he almost forgot about him, but everything circles back to him, doesn't it? He tries so hard to keep his distance but every time he sees him on Trollian his stomach flutters in all the weirdest ways. Karkat has the ability to calm him down from any bullshit that might be currently happening to him by doing literally anything. Anything at all. Even when he's there to talk to him about something serious or solemn, Eridan can't help but feel... well. He can't help but feel. Feel, warm. Feel better. Eridan is up to anything after he talks to Karkat, because he makes him feel needed. Important. He has a small role in his life, but god, it's everything he doesn't deserve. And it's selfish of him to crave his attention as much as he does, so he's held off on initiating any contact himself, though his therapist isn't happy about it. They claim that it's okay to reach for friends and that it's probably actually better for him and their relationship as a whole, but Karkat isn't a friend. Karkat doesn't have a relationship with him. Karkat swoops in to save him from his miserable, isolated existence out of nowhere, and leaves as fast as he came, and then he hears nothing from him for at least a week. And right now, he's perfectly happy with that.

...

No, he's, not. He's never happy with anything. He's teaching himself to be happier, to appreciate what he has and to stop worrying about what he doesn't. He, unfortunately, is no prospit dreamer, and he will probably continue to latch onto every single existing complication in his life, no matter how small, and bash his head into it multiple times a day. Eridan wishes he could have more time with Karkat. Everyone wishes they could have more time with Karkat. Eridan doesn't deserve that time with Karkat, which keeps him from asking for his company. He'll get it when Karkat feels like giving it to him, and that's what he's going to have to take.

He's getting over it, he promises, he's just not great at getting over feelings.

As if he deserves those feelings in the first place.

He's not about to open that can of wriggling slime, so he pushes all of that to the back of his mind and immerses himself in his book. It's a shitty book, but it's something. He can complain about it later.

He gets out of the tub and pulls on the comfiest pajamas he has. Maybe he'll light a candle? Yes. Just for the smell. It's not too late at night but it _is_ winter, and at this point, it's been dark for hours, and he's freezing his ass off, and all he's wanted to do is curl up in his blankets with a very particular book ever since he left on his road trip. With a few adjustments to his thermostat, and a book swap, he slips underneath his sheets and flips to where he left off.

This particular journal is about pillaging, which he doesn't mind all too much, though he prefers something else. Some conflict, maybe. He has journals about his encounters with Mindfang, or meetings with The Condescension, but he doesn't want those either. He thought he'd grabbed a different journal than this? He can't have lost track of his favorite one...

He decides to read this one for a while anyway, and then he'll go looking.

Hours into his read, a noise like metal hitting concrete comes from outside the window facing the front of the house, and a particularly vulgar screech follows. He listens again. Nothing. Maybe it's one of those kids from the neighborhood thirteen minutes away? He can't tell from just peering through his window...

Looks like he's going outside to find out.


	4. Holy Jesus Fuck, My Legs Are Burning

Yeah, this was such a stupid idea, it was almost hilarious.

Almost.

Every raindrop sends searing pain through Karkat's body, leaving no mercy for his poor, shot-out nervous system and ever-worsening muscles. Damp clothing clings to his skin, weighs him down and steals the breath from him like the wheels of a steamroller. His heart rate hasn't gone down since this morning, before he left. In fact, he'd say his bloodpusher has had quite the time of its life beating away; it's so fast he can barely feel it. All he feels is a constant, agonizing thrum that threatens to burst every vein in his body and have him bleed out on the concrete. Lungs burning with every heave of air. Ribs screeching with every rise and fall of his chest. His fingers? Probably crushed or something, he doesn't know. He put his hands out to catch the fall, and while it didn't work as well as he'd hoped, maybe he avoided smashing every single bone he's ever had. Because people grow bones. That's a thing they do. It's not like bones fuse together, no! Karkat gains plenty of new bones every year! Because Alternians! God, what a stupid fucking joke.

He couldn't take the main road because, well, cars. So he took a little side route that would have taken five hours, normally, and even with his shitty luck, it was paved, thank god. There was a shit ton of ice and turning was a fucking nightmare. A fucking nightmare! It's even icier up these stupid fucking mountains, and he swears, he almost plummeted off twice. He left at around 10 am (shut up he doesn't need the fucking sleep okay? And all of his friends were up doing things while he was watching Netflix anyway,) and it's, 9:30 right now? Yeah. Okay. Close to a full 12 hours of exercise. He might not have to do another leg day ever again! Because he totally did them before. Right. Working out is common nature for Karkat, he hits the gym every single fucking day to lift those reps and get those weights in.

He could go for a gatorade or two right now.

As he's cursing at his limbs and pleading with whatever god might be out there to help him up, he hears a soft creak.

"Um, hello? If you're one a'those kids from dowwn in'th'vvalley y'really shouldn't be out at this time'a night. Do'ya need me t'call your pa-"

That's a beautiful sound that is. Karkat can't see much of anything right now, given how dark it is, but his silhouette illuminated by the light that pours from behind it is enough to soothe his anxieties. For now, at least. Let's see if he can give a 'fellow greeting' before Eridan culls his ass.

"Er-" A few sharp coughs in succession, and then a _WHEEEEEZE,_ " _*Huff*,_ Er, ridan, what's-"

_**"KAR!?!?!"** _

"Iuh, yeah" "It's, it's me I'm-"

"WWHAT IN TH'EVVER-LOVVIN' FUCK ARE Y'DOIN' ALL TH'WWAY UP HERE IN THE SELKIRK MOUNTAINS - THE FUCKIN' _SPOKANE_ AREA, MIGHT I ADD - FROM _MAPLE VVALLEY_ _,_ IN THE MIDDLE A' _WWINTER_ , DURIN' A _THUNDERSTORM,_ ON A FLIMSY-ASS HOLLOWED OUT TOOTHPICK OF A _METAL_ _BIKE_ _???_ "

Okay, let's fuck that plan to hell, then, Eridan. It's not like he has anything to say to him, because if he did, he would have said it through Trollian oh wAIT ERIDAN WOULDN'T HAVE SEEN ANYWAY ISN'T THAT JUST FUCKING DANDY MAYBE THERE'S A _REASON_ HE FUCKING PEDALED HIS SORRY ASS THE FUCK OVER, E R I D A N . God, why is it so hard to talk? Everything burns, everything _burns,_ can they do this later, Eridan, when he's not a useless pile of flesh?

"Yeah that's-"

"GET IN MY HOUSE, KAR"

"Oka-"

A bolt of lightning strikes the very top of Eridan's house, illuminating everything within miles of it and sending crackles of energy through the damp air. It gives Karkat just enough time to see Eridan's face contorted into one of the worst expressions he's ever seen on him. Absolutely horror-struck, eyes wide, pupils barely a pinprick. His head whips upward, probably to check to see if anything is wrong, and then it snaps right back to Karkat. Is he hoping it didn't strike him? Because he's fucking counting his lucky stars. The sound is deafening, literally, it's so loud his ears blow out and they sit there ringing as everything goes black again, and then within a few seconds, it starts to return to him. His silhouette is gone from the door, but where...?

Oh. Here. He hears his feet crunching the frosted grass next to him, though he's still on the driveway.

"Holy fuck that was terrifying. Does it always do that? How do you even stand outside in this shit ass weather?"

"Howw the hell do you fuckin' bike in this wweather you fuckin' degenerate wwhat kinda question - 'howw do you evven stand outside in this shit ass wweather?' motherfucker you'vve been out for god knowws how long - I don't havve time for my owwn shit. You're lucky that wwasn't you!"

"Hey, hey, calm do-"

"I havve evvery right t'be wworried about your reckless ass, Kar."

"Yeah.. yeah, okay."

Karkat, yet again, attempts to get up, but he shrieks as the pain turns from searing to scalding. It nearly knocks him out, and he can't help but fall limp.

"Oh, _god_ Kar, do y'need some help up? Can you evven movve???"

"I can mo, ve, I've-"

Another shriek, he feels two arms wrap around him, feels his weight press down on them as he's lifted, all of the spasms in his muscles as he's pressed against his chest. His breathing falters - Holy shit, he's so cold. He's colder than the outside, than the frigid air of winter, maybe like being pressed to an arctic glacier with no clothes on. Probably not that bad, but he's wet, and being wet means the cold seeps heat from your body faster, and while he was already shivering before, he's trembling more violently, now. On one hand, it's soothing - the cold helps the soreness in his muscles. Only for a moment, of course, because he has to cling to consciousness as the pain once again has him on the brink of sleep, or worse.

And then another bolt of lightning, hitting the same place, startles him enough to where he scrambles and screams to get to somewhere, and he would have fallen, had Eridan not been holding him so tight.

“PUT ME DOWN!!! PUT ME _DOWN!!!_ "

"Shh, Kar, don't wworry, I'vve got it."

Eridan is already walking towards the house, and it's not like he wants to do the walking himself. Is it, really so bad to let him do this for him?

"... Fine."

He decides to shut his eyes for just a little bit as he walks. Attempt to settle, at least.

"Keep your eyes open Kar, if you fall asleep an' you havve a concussion or somethin' it'd be real bad."

"I want some fucking rest goddamnit!"

"You can havve some in a feww hours okay? I need t'be able t'wwatch you though."

"Great. Because I'm a fucking grub who shits his pants all the time and can't even be bothered to yell for someone to clean it up."

"It's not like that Kar!"

"I know, I know."

Eridan jostles with the handle as he struggles to keep a good grip on Karkat and open the door, but once he's got it, he steps in carefully. It's so much warmer in here than outside, and it's quite the contrast to the literal polar freeze of Eridan. He can't see much with the way he's being held. Eridan puts him down, though, gently, and slowly, eases him onto the couch, and then disappears for a moment.

Karkat takes a long pause to breathe before deciding to look around from his spot. He thought Eridan might be cluttered, or some type of hoarder. This is simply not the case - everything is tastefully arranged, weapons are sparse, too, though when they are there, they tend to be the centerpiece, up on a wall rack or something. He thought he'd lost Ahab's Crosshair? Or that maybe, Cronus had it, seeing as it's his in the first place. The room is clean. Cozy. Everything looks modern that isn't a wall map, or some ancient Alternian shit. Books are put away in their shelves. The air is clear of dust. He's even managed to keep it to a similar color scheme - Black furniture against dark violet walls, with white and light yellow accents. An Aquarian banner is hung on either side of the fireplace, underneath the TV mantle, and boy is that a fucking massive TV. Who the hell even needs a TV that big? Obviously this dipshit.

Before he can get too comfortable, Eridan comes back in to poke and prod at him, turn him over, lift his limbs, squeeze at him, etc.

"What are you doing?"

"Look at you. You're all soaked through, Kar, god, howw long havve y'been out there?"

There's so much concern in his voice, it almost breaks his heart.

"Well I, not for too long-"

He ducks behind the couch? It's apparent why, though, as he comes back up with a few blankets hanging on his arm. He takes one and drapes it over Karkat, then tucks it in and wraps him in another one, and then another. He can do this himself! Why is he being babied?

"What, in the hell are you doing?"

"Makin' sure you're not gonna die."

"I'm gonna be fine, I came here to-"

Eridan shoots him a glare, eyes swimming with anger and worry, though, doesn't quite look him in the eye. Or anywhere near his face, for that matter. "You shouldn't'a come here at all, Kar, 'specially not like this! Wwhere the hell did y'evven get an idea like that??? Bikin' ovver 270 miles just ta make your wway here. And t'me! Me a'all people y'coulda been destroyin' your ass for. God, I bet it hurts like a motherfucker. I'd check on you further but I don't think I need'ta go that far seein' as it's just humiliatin' at that point. I mean you're still cognitivve. You're not losin' consciousness, are you, Kar?"

"Nice of you to cut me off in the middle of my sentence, as you've done multiple times already. Great impression. No, I told you I was fine. Can you hear me out?"

Well now he seems hurt, too. Great. "Kar, neither a'us havve time for you t'explain anythin' if you plan on goin' back home t'night."

"W, Wait-"

He starts to pace. Looks at the ground, Karkat can see his face shift as he grows more worried. That's not what he wanted, that's, _not_ what he wanted, "Only howw can I trust you t'go home an' not hurt yourself Kar? Wwhat if you're already real hurt and there's no one there t'do nothin' wwhen things get wworse? Fuck, Kar, did'y'evven think a'all the utter shit that coulda come outta your shitty idea? You could'a broken bones, or slipped and fell an' been made inta jelly in a ditch somewwhere, or your wwheel coulda wwent out on the road and you coulda ended up all mushy an' shredded like some slimy week-old mozzarella cheese. Wwhat if you end up gettin' a cold? Or a concussion? Jesus wwhat the hell wwould I evven do if y'got hypothermia?" He's biting at his nails, scratching at his cheek. His eyes become glossy. His cheeks become violet and puffy, as a human's might become red. He's ranting. He'll go even further, rile himself up more, and with the panic Karkat can feel from him, Eridan won't easily be pulled from a panic attack, should it start.

"Eridan I-"

"The nearest hospital is thirty minutes awway an' the wwait times are atrocious an' wwhat if it'd be too late by-"

"Eridan please!"

He pauses. It's enough to snap him out of whatever trance he was in, but not enough to calm him. His eyes brush over Karkat's hair. Karkat, doesn't like the avoidance, but, he can't exactly blame him for it, and anything is better than nothing, with him.

"I fucking made it, didn't I? I'm not some fragile piece-of-shit wriggler with soft bones, I can handle it."

A sigh, a long, drawn-out sigh of exhaustion. "I'm, just glad you're safe Kar."

"There we go."

"Sorry t'run awway wwith my thoughts there, I, I'm just wworried is all."

"I know."

He knows, because he's crying. His tears are so big and full, and they gush down his cheeks and streak such beautiful colors across his skin. He hasn't seen them but once before. Eridan has a hard time with his feelings, he does, and that's why he's appreciative of Eridan being emotionally vulnerable with him. Eridan hates vulnerability. Karkat feels special, lucky, getting to see this from him, even if it pains his heart so.

"You're gonna havve'ta givve me a minute or twwo before I'm calm enough t'really be any use Kar."

"I, It's okay, Eridan, go ahead and take your time."

He nods his head, stands, anxiously. Filled with nerves, wanting to say something. He disappears into the kitchen, instead, before he gets the chance to do it. Karkat sighs, allows himself to breathe normally again. These, these blankets smell good. Like some sort of citrus, or maybe pineapple, with some apples and coconut, and maybe a floral note? With, an unknown scent, but he has a feeling that's the whole troll part of it. He'd say something, but it's probably not the detergent he uses. These are worn, though clean. They might not have been washed in a while.

The thought of Eridan smelling like this makes him feel warm, though he's still shivering and aching.

"Maybe you wwanna be back ovver in your owwn bed t'night but, I don't think wwe'll get you home in time Kar an' I don't really havve the energy t'drive you home as it is, so. I, mean I knoww my house isn't exactly ideal Kar but if you don't mind bein' here a little longer than you'd like t'be you could at least be in bed before midnight?"

"Thank fuck, because there's no way in hell I wanna move from this spot on the couch."

A chuckle. Good, that's good. He's happy he can still find reason to chuckle at this.

"Howw are y'feelin'?" Eridan returns and places something on the side table that he can't see. Goddamnit, he's curious, but when he moves to look, he groans and flops back down.

"I'm, well I'm, not really up for moving, but I feel better after being able to lay down and fucking breathe for a while."

"Good, good. An' uh, your pain, Kar?"

Because he knows he means other types of feelings, because otherwise Karkat would be complaining. Stupid observant shit. Or maybe Karkat's that transparent. "It's fine."

"No it's not."

"Yes it is."

"No, it's not."

"Yes it is."

"Don't lie t'me Kar, y'already told me it hurt real bad, an' evven if y'didn't, 1. You're a terrible liar, 2. Y'couldn't evven manage to get up on your knees, an' 3. Y'put a dent in my drivvewway."

"I put a dent in your driveway?"

"Yeah but I don't really givve much a'a shit. Howw bad does it hurt Kar?"

"I'm not in any pain."

Another sigh, this one exasperated. "Y'knoww, Kar, I really care about you an' I wwant nothin' but good things for you, but you'vve forced my hand."

Eridan places his hand underneath Karkat's calf, wraps his fingers around it, and squeezes softly as he lifts it up.

"OWOWOW _FUCK_ STOPSTOPSTOP-"

He gently lowers it, after all, he doesn't mean to hurt him. "Sorry, sorry. Are y'wwillin' t'talk about it noww?"

"Not really, no! I'm even less willing to talk about it!"

"Fair."

A grumble, and then a sharp huff as Karkat puffs his cheeks. "... But, um, it feels like everything is burning. Not in a good way, obviously, and I think I might have popped a few blood vessels and pulled some muscles? I probably tore something. And It feels like I've been laying on top of a pile of my textbooks for weeks, or needles, or maybe even some knives coated in like, hydrogen peroxide, or salt and lemon juice - no. No I've got the perfect description. You know when Horrus had that fucking god-awful robot horse body?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"It feels like he peeled my skin with a potato peeler and then soaked me in some filthy mixture of piss and horse shit, and then he stomped the fucking life out of me with his steel-reinforced anvil-hooves and turned me into a bag of ground meat and bone splinters, but not before stiffening all of my muscles up so tight I couldn't even lift a finger without severely breaking a bone or some shit like that."

"E, Ewwww. That's awwful descriptivve of you Kar, but, that sounds terrible."

"Yeah it fucking hurts."

Eridan ruffles Karkat's hair a bit, which feels pretty nice, all things considered. "I'll grab y'some Alevve 'cause Advvil doesn't do shit for pain like this. You don't movve a damn millimeter from your spot y'hear me?"

"Wasn't planning on it."

Karkat is left smiling when Eridan leaves again for the kitchen, and thank god Eridan isn't in the room to see it. He doesn't like to smile in front of his friends, and usually he doesn't. Today, he can't help it.

Though it gets awkward after a bit, as he hears metal clanking and shuffling about that doesn't match up with what he's supposed to be doing, and what else would he be doing, anyway? And then he goes upstairs? And then he's up there for a bit, and then he's back downstairs again, busy as he's ever been. With how things look, he supposes Eridan must be out of the house often, but for what? Does he have a job? He technically doesn't need to work, and Eridan hasn't mentioned a job, but he hasn't mentioned a lot of things. Karkat wants to know. He wants to know what the hell he's doing with his life, he feels so out of loop with Eridan, all the while everyone else chucks their shit at him and shoves him underneath a pool of massive-ass stank-ass life garbage that he's either tired of or already heard before.

"... So. Um, Eridan."

"Wwe'll chat later."

"Okay."

More noises. More being busy. More of Karkat, awkwardly sitting on his couch while freezing his fucking ass off.

"God it's so fucking cold in here."

"My thermostat is set t'seventy degrees."

"Well I'm cold."

"I'm sorry Kar but I can't do much about that right noww okay? I'm focused on somethin' else. Maybe if y'hadn't'a-"

"Not right now."

"R, right, right. Sorry Kar."

"It's fine, I get it."

Even longer, and now, he's getting impatient.

"What the hell is taking you so long?"

"You're gonna havve'ta givve me a minute Kar I'm not done."

"How fucking long does it take to get a damn pill from a fucking bottle?"

"You're takin' twwo not one. An' y'knoww wwhat? Maybe it's harder than y'think it is, Kar. Givve a guy a break."

hA. Harder, is he just complaining about having to take care of him, now? "Oh sure it is. Squeezing the lid takes so much fucking effort your weak ass baby hands are going to shatter and your eyeballs are going to pop out of their sockets. Are you so fucking pathetic that you can't even open a lock on a bottle of pills made for fucking grubs? Grubs don't even have hands."

"Sometimes it takes me a bit t'open my meds in the mornin' so wwill you kindly shut the fuck up an' let me open this?"

"Wait, you do?"

"Yeah."

... Hm.

"Like for real though."

"Y, yeah?"

"That's, really sad."

So Karkat's being an insensitive prick, then. Great. Fucking _Dandy._

"Don't you tell me wwhat's sad an' not sad about me. Evverythin' is sad about me. I'm a pathetic piece'a shit."

Absolutely not how dare he? How dare he in his own house, "I, don't agree with that but I'm gonna let that go for now, because I don't have the energy to sit here and talk to you about that kind of talk right now."

"It wwas a joke, Kar. But I'm real sorry I'm stressin' y'out a little bit."

He sighs. There's been so many sighs tonight it feels so fucking redundant to do it again, but it helps him release some tension he's been holding for the past ten minutes. "It's okay. I've been pretty wound up lately."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Finally, _finally,_ he walks back over, places yet another thing on the side table.

"Wwell, maybe y'can tell me all about that wwhen you get outta your bath."

"Ex, cuse me?"

"Wwell I thought it might be nice for y'to soak in some nice hot wwater-"

"What the fuck Eridan! I'm not taking a fucking bath! That shit is for bloodsucking wrigglers who don't know how to use a damn shower!" He growls a little bit as he says it, not that he's being hostile. But what does he take him for? Some sort of pansy? It's not emasculating to take a bath and he's certainly not one to care about his shitty masculinity but for Eridan to be telling him he should take a bath? What in the fuck, dude. He had no idea anything remotely that - well it feels privileged for some reason! He doesn't know why! Like some fucking rich snob telling him it'd be great for him to go on a fucking two week vacation just because he's been on one before. Maybe it's a little less privileged than Sollux.

Still.

"It's not t'get clean, Kar, it's for your muscles an' shit! It'll wwarm y'up real good and probably soothe the pain enough for y'to at least sit comfortably in bed t'night."

"Oh god, we're not sleeping together."

"KAR! I havve a guest bed, an' evven if you wwere sleepin' in mine, I wwoulda taken the couch, dumbass. I knoww I'm not really the ideal companion for much'a anythin' at all an' I'm not subjectin' you t'that seein' as that wwould be real shitty a'me. That an' you probably need a bed more than I do anywway."

Of course, of course. He's always got something prepared for every fucking occasion, being overly paranoid. "We're not going to argue about who needs to sleep in a fucking bed more. I'm not taking a bath."

"Kar, it's already runnin'. It's got epsom salt an' evverythin'."

"What the fuck is epsom salt?!?!"

"It's - JUST TAKE THE FUCKIN' BATH KAR."

"Okay, okay, okay! Jesus fucking christ dude, calm the fuck down."

He frowns a little harder, but with the next breath it's gone. He's just as tense as Karkat is, isn't he?

"Sorry."

"It's fine."

Karkat figures, okay, since things aren't hurting that bad right now, he can do this! He can move! He moves too fast and too excitedly, because wow, that really feels like he's pulled something there and now it feels like he's pulled something _there_ and _there_ and also right there. And there also. And why is he being fucking pulverized like some slab of raw meat?

"AHFU C K ! ! !"

"Do you...?"

"Do I what, Prince Dipshit?"

"Do you need me t'carry you up there, Kar?"

"No, I'm not going to let you carry me up a single flight of stairs no matter how bad my dysfunctional muscles want to fucking kill me, and I'd rather die than let you touch me right now, not because I hate your touch specifically or anything like that, but because everything hurts so fUCKING BAD that any added pressure will most likely send my bloodpusher into cardiac arrest, and actually end my life. So I'm gonna to walk up there, no matter how slowly I have to do it, and I'm gonna walk up there alone."

"If that's wwhat y'wwant Kar."

"That's exactly what I want right now."

Eridan mutters something under his breath. While this most definitely enrages Karkat, he knows he'd never say anything behind anyone's back, and instead be very upfront with him if he were to have a problem with him, as evident with other dialogue pieces in this encounter. So he lets it slide.

"Are y'gonna go right noww or are y'gonna wwait a bit until you'vve finished up your tea?"

"You have tea?"

"Right here, Kar."

He hands him a cup of now pleasantly warm tea, that smells just as good as his blankets do, though it's a different smell. He also hands him the pills he promised, which are an interesting but also pleasant blue color. They won't taste as pleasant as they look.

"Oh, uh, thanks."

He nods. Disappears again. What in the fuck is he doing in there? Karkat swallows his pills and chases them down with at least half of the tea, and he's surprised to find no shitty pill aftertaste. Instead it's a nice and nutty chai, he thinks? Accompanied by a creamy finish. He doesn't know why he's classifying these tastes and feelings. He knows jack shit about tea, even though his cupboard is filled with box after box of the stuff. Most of it is Lipton. He hates Lipton, but it's fast.

"This is really good," Karkat hums, as he sips again. He doesn't feel like being an overly aggressive shit about things today, apparently.

"I, uh, I really like that blend a'tea, y'can only get it from a small little tea shop dowwn in Cali an' I havven't found a duplicate yet."

"This shit is from California? Do they ship?"

"No?" And why the hell did he ask, anyway? They're both as confused as the other.

"How the hell did you get it all the way up here?"

"Don't wworry about it right noww, Kar."

So he doesn't, because his energy is focused on other things, like, drinking the tea. Because it's good. And also, another thought.

"... Do you have any gatorade?"

"What flavvor?"

"That teal color that's supposed to be like a tropical thunderstorm or some shit like that I don't know what the fucking flavor is but it's teal gatorade."

He's right back out with the biggest bottle he's ever seen of the stuff. Seriously, it's like a fucking quart of the most refreshing flavor of gatorade there's ever been, right in front of him, for him, just because he's here and he asked for it. He bets his damn ass he won't be able to find this shit in stores but he could be fucking wrong as hell.

"Thank you."

"No prob."

He tosses down some, books, too? With his other hand.

"Pick a novvel."

Karkat's eyes roam the covers for a while, picking up the titles, the covers, the authors.

"You read romance?"

"No I don't but I havve them lyin' around anywway and I mean wwhen you'vve got as much time t'kill as I do, wwhy not givve it a shot?"

"Any, particular one you like?"

"I'm not givvin' you any a'my opinions on these seein' as I'm not fond a'romance."

Oh, so he's read them, but he doesn't want to admit he likes any. It's cool, it's great. "Fine. Why am I picking one again?"

"Gotta havve somethin' t'read in the bath. I mean, unless you'd rather stare at th'wwall?"

"I'll take this one."

"Great."

He takes the book back and leaves up the stairs with it. So that's what he was doing up there. Setting up his fucking bath for him, like some fucking nursing graduate, or a mother grub. He doesn't need anyone to set up his fucking bath for him! Partially because he doesn't take baths, because he takes showers instead, and he would have never thought you could actually take a bath for the purpose of relaxing. Of course Eridan would know all about that shit, though.

After a while of sitting there and listening to even more noises in the kitchen, he's had it with not doing things. He's also had it with awkward conversation, and until he can think of something actually constructive to talk about, he's gonna go fucking do it.

He's gonna take a fucking bath.

His limbs scream **NO** but his brain screams **SHUT THE FUCK UP I DO WHAT I FUCKING WANT TO YOU PRICKS,** and so he's able to keep on his feet and walk on his own. After all of the biking he did, though, he's surprised he's not asleep.

"You goin' up there right noww?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, don't trip please, go sloww if y'havve to."

As if he'd - alright so that was a close call, but it's only because Eridan jinxed the shit out of him okay? He's completely coordinated right now. "If I fall and hit my head or some shit like that I'll scream at you to help okay?"

"Okay Kar. Enjoy your bath."

"Yeah whatever."

It takes forever to get up the fucking stairs. There's not even that many of them but holy hell, it hurts. It hurts so bad. He'd also be confused as to what room the bath is in, too, once he got up there, but Eridan conveniently left it open for him. He can already smell it from over here, and god, it's got part of that blanket smell in it. God fucking damnit. Shit. Fuck. Now it's all he can think about, even as he decides to destroy his legs walking over there.

He's gonna kick Eridan's ass.

Fucking privileged piece of shit and his fucking decked out bathroom. Who decks out their fucking bathroom?! Everything is either black marble, smoky quartz, amethyst, or silver. The tub? A fucking massive chunk of polished and carved amethyst. His head hurts too much to look at all of the intricacies of it but it's probably a fucking masterpiece, with the way they got the silver to accent it. Amethyst sink. Quartz faucet. Quartz flooring. Maybe it's not an expensive stone but for someone to have this much of it in one place? Yeah. No. He probably vomits money out of his gobsmacker every morning. The bath water is a light pink and smells like he brought heaven to the ground just so he could give part of it to Karkat. The fucker.

"Holy shit Ampora, fuck you and your fucking loaded ass. Who the hell needs a fucking tub like this anyway."

There's a clean towel and robe for him when he gets out of the bath sitting on the counter, and a bath tray set up for him. Insult to injury. A very caring insult, but an insult nonetheless. He strips down and gets the fuck in. He gets the fuck in. He's not dwelling on this shit any longer or the chapter is never going to end.

The water begins to work at his muscles instantly, and he melts into the bath only to find there's a fucking pillowy surface lining the tub for him to sit on. And it's lovely. And he's cursing himself in his head for so many reasons, but mainly because he still hasn't gotten to why he's come here yet.

"Ffffuck, this is really nice... Maybe _I_ could use a tub like this..."

After the bath. He's determined.


	5. Oh, Those Pesky Gut Feelings :) What Can You Do?

Is he out of detergent? No, he got some today, didn't he? Where the hell did he put it...? 

Eridan half-grumbles as he tosses Karkat's sopping wet clothes into the wash. He was gracious enough to leave them outside the bathroom door for him so that Eridan didn't have to awkwardly ask him for them while Karkat was buck-ass-naked in the tub. What kind of interaction would that have been? 'Oh Karkat I forgot t'ask you for your clothes can you maybe hand em' ovver wwhen you're done or somethin'-' 'Hold on fuckass let me fucking get them' 'No Kar goddamnit you're supposed t'be bathin'-' And then he probably would have flung open the door without a shred of shame and chucked them at his face. It's not that he would be bothered by the sight, but...

He won't think too hard about it right now, because he'll get distracted and then neither of them will have any clean clothes to wear.

Clean clothes are a necessity.

Another clap of thunder as the dense rain violently pelts the roof. Relentless, hoping to chip away at the shingles, seeking to cause more damage than it already has. Though it never fails to ease his mind, he wonders. Had it always been this intense? He doesn't recall it being this bad before Karkat arrived. Had, it followed him, like this, with bullets of water so heavy, so close to becoming solid pellets of hail, punching bruises in his skin? Did it wish to put holes in him instead? Had he left the warmth and comfort of his home knowing exactly what kind of curse the winter rain can be? He couldn't have known. Or, at least, he couldn't have imagined what it might do to him. Karkat knows the value of his safety.

Karkat would also do anything for those he cares about, and sometimes, he's so urgent to help them, he lacks the proper foresight to think of the potential consequences. He can get aggressive when he truly believes he knows what's best for someone, not because he intends to be that way, but because he's afraid of what might happen otherwise. He tends to take charge, regardless of whether or not someone has it handled. He thinks he can do better. Fix things. If not fix things, keep things from progressing into an ever-expanding destructive black hole of consequences. Or doom. Or whatever lies at the end, whatever's been fated to happen. Karkat is so adamant he has to be the one to do things that he becomes reckless, and ends up throwing himself and everyone around him at the mercy of any current world-ending terror-inducing shitscram hurricane that's coming for them. He tries to think ahead, he does. And Eridan never questions where his intentions are, if his heart is in the right place. Karkat doesn't want to hurt anyone. He's been too soft to those who've hurt him, in his opinion, and he thinks he could use a sharp and bitter edge to stab at them with when they get too close. And of course, Karkat would never fling his friends into conflict without going himself. And asking first, and fighting and fixing with them.

He's too desperate to see that some things aren't worth the trouble.

This, particular plan of his being one of them. He could have done literally anything else. He could have gone to see another friend, could have spent the day at home, could have given himself time to figure something out, like a bus or a chat on the phone. He could have gotten someone to drive him, Eridan would have even picked him up if he'd asked, as soon as he'd got home. What if Eridan wasn't home? What if Karkat had gotten here and Eridan was still ten minutes away, or twenty, or hours? What if he'd come here just a little bit too early? What would he have done? Would Eridan even have made it? His body temperature has to have dropped; if he'd stopped exercising how much further would it have gone? He's not clinging to life right now, but what if he came home and his heart was barely beating and his breathing slowing to a stop? Is he overreacting? He doesn't, think he is. He doesn't want to be. He wants to be founded in his concerns, in his anxieties. And it's winter! And it's not even snow, and if it had got any colder he could have been glazed with an ice sheet, frozen over enough to where it would be tough to move. That's just the cold! That's just the timing! That's if he was able to last long enough for him to be there! Someone could have hit him. He could have fallen, or been speared, or been crushed under a landslide, or struck by lightning or electrocuted by a power line or cut in half or he could have pushed himself so hard his heart could have stopped and he could have sat there clutching at his chest and afraid to be alone in his final breaths and he - what if, Karkat didn't make it to his house? What if. What if? What if he hadn't made it to his house?

He can't help the wave of nausea that floors him, brings him to his knees and tears at the thoughts in his head. He's overreacting. People bike those distances all the time. But not like this, and not without breaks - did Karkat even bring anything to drink? God, dehydration! How could he forget about dehydration?

Oh, that's where the detergent is. His panic did something good, for once.

He grabs the box with his shaking limbs, drags himself up with the dryer as his support. His body doesn't react well to stress, worse than the average human, much worse than the average alternian. His meds are making him better. They're making him function on a low level, but it's not nothing. He wonders if he's going to have to end up in the hospital, though, instead of Karkat, because these things can take him there, and he doesn't want to be there. He doesn't, want. To be there. He wants to be here. He's going to be here.

Take care of Karkat. He's alive, he's okay. Take care of Karkat first, and then he can let himself worry.

He chucks three of the little pods of detergent into the washer and messes with the settings until he has something that works. Okay. Clothes are running, he's got that down. He was doing something else, too, but what...

Oh! Dinner! Dinner! Of course! How could he forget?

He scrambles into the kitchen to stir the pot and check the oven. He knows he's already had something to eat tonight, but it's not for him. Karkat needs calories. Nutrition. Fucking bastard ass fuck thinks he can get away with overworking his body for hours and casually brushing it off to try and talk to him? No. Karkat is eating. He's eating well, even if Eridan loathes making dinner on short notice. For him, always, he'll make an exception. He'd cook dinner for him even if he didn't bust his ass so hard it bled!

Karkat wasn't bleeding, and he's incredibly lucky he wasn't, for, reasons he won't think about right now, because thinking about it hurts to do, and he's already hurting.

The problem is that he doesn't have enough things to occupy his mind with right now. He promised he'd let himself feel and think and breathe when he got home, and he keeps his promises! he does! He's not someone to go back on his word no matter how bad things get, no matter how much he changes, so he'll let himself do those things when Karkat goes home tomorrow. It's only fair to the both of them. Neither of them should have to have extra on their plate today.

He, wonders how he can make Karkat more comfortable. What can he do right now to make things easier for him when he comes back downstairs? Is a candle or two overwhelming? Would it be too much to wrap him in something warm - he could grab him a hot pad, too, or does he need cold on his muscles? He should alternate, actually, he's heard it's much better for exercise-induced pain. He might be too tired to worry about any of that. Would he let Eridan help him with it? He'll ask. He could also make sure he has something to do while he's awake, if he decides the book he's picked out for himself is a piece of horseshit. What else does he like to do? Would he rather watch something, or play a video game? Nothing that involves moving. Walking up the stairs had to have sucked the last bit of energy Karkat had out of him, since it took him so long to do. Maybe he'll find a way to make it so that there's not as many stairs.

Should he even bother with it though? If Karkat would rather be to himself right now, he shouldn't push for anything. Though he, doesn't want to be a terrible host... so maybe a candle, a light scent in case Karkat can't handle anything stronger right now. A scent that fits with the smell from the kitchen, too, nothing that clashes. And he'll pile some folded blankets on the couch, and have him eat there instead of in the kitchen. What if he spills? Ah, who cares, it's not like Eridan isn't prepared for a spill, and having Karkat be as comfortable as possible is his top priority at the moment.

He executes comfort.exe. He ends task comfort.exe. He is now left to his own devices once again. The jarring state of his existence never seems to allow him or anyone else peace, does it?

He stirs listlessly at the pot in front of him, stares into its contents. So many feelings he can't account for, so many he wishes he couldn't. Wishing he knew what to do, or what he's supposed to think, or whether or not he's allowed to think at all. How does he keep his thoughts in check? He'd write them down, but he's all the way downstairs...

He guesses he can drown his sorrows in reddit videos or meme compilations, they're amazing for when you want your brain to function at -20%.

The moment he turns his phone back on, he's blasted with notifications, and he clicks the first one his finger lands on. What's he being redirected to?

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering  caligulasAquarium [CA]

CG: HEY ERIDAN YOU THERE?

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased pestering  caligulasAquarium [CA]

Oh, god, that was this morning. Just before 6 AM. Karkat's never up that early? Did he have a nightmare? Was he supposed to be there to talk to him, and help him through? He usually is. He hasn't missed an opportunity to be there when he needs him, and yet this stands unanswered. But if that was the case, he would have gone to his moirail, right? If, Gamzee was up. If he wasn't busy. He might have tried him already. God, Eridan's a fucking failure of a friend, to the only one he has, no less. Could he be any more of a waste of space?

There's something not right, here, though. Usually when he doesn't answer right away, he goes into detail for when he does get there. Vents into an empty chatroom. They would have picked up from there, or Karkat would have been able to sort out his thoughts before he replied. Was he getting in contact with him to check on him? It's possible, but it only happens so often... Was he worried about him, then, for not answering? He could have called. He could have texted. Karkat has his number, or, at least, Eridan gave him his number. Maybe he misplaced it, and that's why he's been using Trollian. He could have asked him to give it to him again, though, if that was the case. Was he too prideful to admit that he'd lost it? Or maybe he didn't want to use it at all. That, seems more likely. He wouldn't blame him if that was the case, after all, he's Eridan. There's not much of anything that makes him worth having in someone's life, let alone his. Let alone Karkat's.

He doesn't deserve him. Doesn't deserve the effort he puts into their relationship, doesn't deserve to have a friend that he never gives back to. It's part of the reason he can barely look himself in the eye when he's getting ready in the morning, part of the reason he'd rather chuck his guts out for the bears than continue whatever it is they have. And yet they still have it! And he still craves it! And he can still fix things, can't he? Is that what Karkat's trying to do, though? Does he try to patch things up with him despite whatever he's feeling towards him?

He dreads knowing how he really feels about it, but. He'll talk to him. He has to, anyway, to see what kind of lunacy compelled him to do, _this._

There's, another chat that's recently been active? No, two. That's weird, but it could be Sollux and Vriska deciding it was a good time to tell him what a piece of shit he was. He decides to check on -

It's Gamzee. Just a few minutes ago, and there's more than one message, too. He's gonna get culled.

terminallyCapricious [TC] began pestering  caligulasAquarium [CA]

TG: HeY eRiBrO sOrRy To BoThEr YoU wItH mY mOtHeRfUcKiN mEsSaGeS bUt I hAvEn'T sEeN mY bEsT bRo AlL dAy

TG: He HaSn'T aNsWeReD mY tExTs Or CaLlS

TG: EvErYoNe ElSe HaS bEeN mOtHeRfUcKiN cAlLiNg hIm tO cHeCk Up On HiM bUt ThEy CaN't GeT aHoLd Of HiM eItHeR aNd It'S bEeN mOtHeRfUcKiN hOuRs

TG: AnD wE cAn'T fIlE a MoThErFuCkIn MiSsInG pErSoNs RePoRt UnTiL iT's BeEn 24 HoUrS mY mOtHeRfUcKeR

TG: He SaId He WaS hEaDeD oVeR tO yOuR pLaCe AnD tHaT hE'd GeT sOmEoNe To DrIvE hIm BuT hE hAsN't TaLkEd To AnY oThEr MoThErFuCkErS tOdAy

TG: I'm ReAl WoRrIeD aBoUt My BeSt Bro

TG: I kNoW yOu'Re NoT oN tRoLlIaN rIgHt NoW bUt If YoU sEe ThIs CaN yOu LeT mE kNoW wHaT's GoIn On OvEr ThErE aNd If My GoOd MoThErFuCkEr MaDe It SaFe?

TG: AnD mAyBe HeLp OuT iF hE hAsN't?

TG: I kNoW wE aReN't ThE bEsT oF fRiEnDs BuT i KnOw YoU mOtHeRfUcKiN cArE aBoUt KaRbRo AnD i KnOw YoU'lL dO yOuR mOtHeRfUcKiN bEsT tO hElP aNd ThAt YoU'lL bE hOnEsT wItH mE aNd GiVe Me ThE dEtAiLs

TG: SoMeTiMeS kArBrO dOeSn'T wAnT a MoThErFuCkEr To WoRrY aBoUt HiM yOu KnOw?

TG: ThAnKs My GoOd BrO

terminallyCapricious [TC] ceased pestering  caligulasAquarium [CA]

Well, since his Trollian shows him as active, he can't not answer, and he doesn't want to leave him on read anyway, for multiple reasons. He'd be shaken up if his moirail went missing too. If he had one, but, he can imagine, he's had one before.

caligulasAquarium [CA] began pestering  terminallyCapricious [TC]

CA: Sorry Gam there wwere some things goin on but you caught me at the right time

CA: He's safe but he's a dumbass

TC: WhY? wHaT dId He Do?

CA: Hold on I'll showw you

He makes his way onto his porch, snapping a photo of his driveway, and the weather, with the flash on. It's an ugly picture, but it'll do.

CA: _file attachment: image 2 mb_

CA: That's wwhat he did. Can't believve he biked all th'wway here from Maple Vvalley instead a'gettin someone else t'drivve him. He has his license doesn't he? Does he not havve a car yet?

TC: Ah, YeAh, ThAt SeEmS lIkE gOoD oL kArKaT mOtHeRfUcKiN vAnTaS

TC: He DoEsN't HaVe A cAr YeT bUt We'Re lOoKiN tO gEt HiM oNe LaTeR tHiS mOnTh

TC: LiKe ThE 28Th Of FeBrUaRy I tHiNk

CA: That's the last day a'th'month isn't it?

TC: It'S fEbRuArY aLrEaDy MaN?

TC: DuDe. I hAd No MoThErFuCkIn IdEa

TC: Is He ReAlLy OkAy ThOuGh? Is He In ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN eMeRgEnCy RoOm RiGhT nOw? Do I nEeD tO dRiVe OvEr?

CA: Y'can if y'wwanna Gam but he's alright, no major injuries or nothin' like that an' I evven made sure he wwasn't bleedin' though that wwas a little hard for me t'do considerin' evverythin'

TC: Oh YeAh. FoRgOt AbOuT tHaT

CA: You knoww about that?

TC: EvErYoNe KnOwS aBoUt It BuT iT's ReAlLy NoT tHaT bIg Of A dEaL mY gOoD mOtHeRfUcKeR. iF i WeRe YoU i'D gO aHeAd AnD lOoK. yOu WoN'T bE dOiN aNy HaRm By It

CA: I can't really do that Gam I'vve got my owwn honor code t'stick to an' I'm not breakin' it right noww or evver unless I'm th'only one around t'help him wwhen he needs it an' he's bleedin' t'death

TC: WhAtEvEr YoU sAy MoThErFuCkEr. I'm SuRpRiSeD yOu'Ve MaDe It ThiS fAr wItHoUt KnOwIn AnD i DoN't ThInK kArBrO kNoWs YoU dOn'T kNoW

CA: But you said evveryone kneww!

TC: My MoThErFuCkIn BeSt BrO iS rEaLlY gOoD aBoUt PiCkInG uP oN tHiNgS uNlEsS tHeY hAvE tO dO wItH hIm. He'S pReTtY gOoD aT mAkInG hImSeLf ToO bUsY tO nOtIcE mUcH oF aNyThInG uNlEsS iT's BeInG sHoVeD iNtO hIs FaCe

TC: MaN tHiS qUiRk Is So MoThErFuCkIn HaRd To Do WhEn I'm NoT hIgH

CA: You're still clean?

TC: I mEaN i Do ThE oCcAsIoNaL wEeD iF TaVrOs Or KaRbRo WaNtS tO dO iT wItH mE bUt UsUaLlY KaRbRo CaN't DuE tO ThE nAtUrE oF hIs JoB aNd TaVrOs HaS a HaRd TiMe WiTh DoInG iT. NoT lIkE i ReAlLy WaNt To Do It AnYwAy BuT iT's FuN tO lIkE mAyBe OnCe EvErY fEw WeEkS. nO fAyGo ThOuGh. Or EvEn SoPoR. i DoN't HaVe A sOpOr ChAmBeR cAuSe I dOn'T dO tOo WeLl WiTh ThEm AnYmOrE aNd TaVrOs PrEfErS tHe BeD aNyWaY

CA: Wwoww Gam you're doin really good an I'm real proud a'you

TC: ThAnKs ErIbRo. I kNoW nOt EvErYoNe ReAlLy GiVeS a ShIt WhEtHeR i'M hIgH oR sObEr As LoNg As I'm NoT kIlLiNg A mOtHeRfUcKeR sO iT mEaNs A lOt To Me To HeAr SoMeOnE oThEr ThAn TaVrOs Or KaRbRo SaY tHaT

CA: Wwell if you're wworkin real hard at it and it's somethin you really wwant for yourself I don't see wwhy you don't havve more support for it. Or at least open support Gam, I'm sure evveryone supports you specially since you're a lot happier than you used t'be and that's huge

TC: MaN i TrY sO mOtHeRfUcKiN hArD sOmEtImEs BuT tHeRe'S nO wAy I'm GoIn BaCk. I'm LiViNg LiFe AnD AcTuAlLy In ThE pReSeNt AnD tAvRoS sEeS tHe DiFfErEnCe AnD eVeRyThInG. i LiKe BeInG hErE, mAn, LiKe, ReAlLy HeRe

CA: I'm glad you do Gam cause if y'didn't that wwould be a real shame considerin howw hard you're tryin an y'shouldn't have'ta try so hard wwithout enjoyin the final result Gam

TC: YoU'rE sO rIgHt, MaN. hOw Is KaRbRo DoIn RiGhT nOw

CA: He's doin alright but he's real sore an tired. I'm cookin him up some dinner right noww so he can havve somethin t'eat after comin all this wway but I havve a feelin he just wwants t'go t'sleep

TC: I tHiNk YoU sHoUlD tAlK tO hIm BeFoRe He PaSsEs OuT sO yOu CaN tElL a MoThErFuCkEr NoT tO dO tHaT aGaIn, Or To CaLl Me WhEn He WaKeS uP. AnD tO cHaT wItH hIm, BeCaUsE hE rEaLlY mOtHeRfUcKiN lIkEs To TaLk To YoU, bRo

CA: He does?

TC: YeAh BrO

CA: Wwell I'll tell him t'call you in th'mornin an I'vve already scolded him for bein a fuckin dingus but wwe might havve a chat if that's the case

TC: SwEeT, mY gOoD mOtHeRfUcKeR

CA: I gotta make sure the food isn't burnin so I'll either talk to you later or nevver dependin on wwhat you prefer alright?

TC: TaLk To Me LaTeR tHeN, bRo, It WaS nIcE tO hEaR fRoM yOu

CA: I'm glad y'feel that wway Gam. Get some good rest an don't wworry about Kar, I'vve got it handled

TC: I kNoW mY mOtHeRfUcKeR

CA: Night

TC: GoOdNiGhT

caligulasAquarium [CA] ceased pestering  terminallyCapricious [TC]

What a, pleasant surprise. That actually left him feeling alright? And most of the time they didn't even talk about Karkat. Now, it's nothing close to what Karkat makes him feel, sure, but to have a conversation with someone and not feel like he's wasting their time, because they keep adding onto his responses? That's something he likes. Something he misses. He can't decide if Gamzee wants to be friends with him or not, but he can figure it out later, when they have their next conversation.

There's a promise of a next conversation.

He can't actually smile, but if he could, he'd be smiling right now.

He spends his remaining free time sitting on his kitchen stool and browsing Reddit or random forums on the internet, downloading practically every meme he can get his hands on, just in case. He sends them to Karkat every time they talk, but now he has someone else to send them to! He avoids clown memes; clowns are scary as they are, but Gamzee's also distanced himself from being a Juggalo. He keeps the face paint, it looks cool. He knows enough about him through Karkat, luckily, that he's not completely out of loop. It'll be nice to know more, and hear it from him, too.

Karkat always seems to be hanging out with friend after friend, talking to person after person. Does he ever get a break? Does he even want one? He's popular with those who meet him, and Eridan can see why; kind and caring, always willing to give advice even when he doesn't want to, always looking after people, funny, quick-witted, smart, tells you exactly what he's thinking but always manages to eases the blow a little if it's not what you want to hear, sociable. A lovable character who's passionate about his gut feelings and who never wavers in his word. He loves that in people. People who stick to their word, even when they hate it. Karkat can get angry about stupid bets he makes to people but he doesn't get himself out of whatever he's agreed to, and he'll never break a promise unless he's not there to keep it.

... Which reminds him. He's been, up there for a while, hasn't he?

Could he have...?

No! No, he couldn't have! Karkat isn't that tired, he can take a bath on his own and not get hurt.

...

He's, not happy about his paranoia, but it's not a bad thing to check on him, right? He'll be able to know if there's really something wrong, and if there's nothing wrong, no harm done.

He turns the stove down low and makes his way upstairs.


	6. Sand Shifting In My Coffee Cup

_There was nothing she wanted more than to run and hide away from her feelings, and still she relented to them, for if she ran they would follow without mercy. But what could she do about them, knowing she might not feel the same way? Should she risk it, take the leap and risk a rejection worse than death, or should she resign herself to a life of never knowing what could have been?_

He's on the edge of his little bath pillow seat, teeth barely restrained from grinding together. Listen. He's into shitty romance novels, and he admits that maybe this one isn't the most well-written novel he's ever seen, but the plot is fucking killing him and if he doesn't know how the rustblood treats the violetblood's confession he's going to scream. If she _doesn't_ confess he'll also scream, because they've been friends since childhood and they've told each other everything. Even things that would normally be too much information between _best friends,_ so why the FUCK can't they get over their feelings and tell each other, damnit, they're both so fucking deep in their feelings that they choke on them every morning when they wake up and every night as they stare into the fucking ceiling just do it already so he doesn't have to sit and watch the two of them scream internally and force themselves to not kiss each other-

"Are you alright in there Kar?"

He doesn't hear him, and it's not like he has to, because the violetblood is talking about her confession plans and he feels like he'll miss something if he doesn't give his full attention -

"Kar? Oh god please don't havve drowwned I don't wwanna havve t'hold your dead body."

This time the panic in his voice cuts through the intensity of the moment. Karkat rushes to dry his other arm while he holds the book open, there's no way he's fucking losing his place but he can't put a bookmark in like this because he's not coordinated enough to do it.

Oh right. He should answer him before he attempts to save him from drowning that's not actually happening. Neither of them want Eridan walking in on him.

"I'm okay, I'm okay! Sorry Eridan, I guess I might like this book a lot more than I thought I would."

"Oh? I think it's one a'the better ones outta all a'them, evven if I don't really like romance. It's a decent book ovverall is wwhat I think I mean t'say."

One of the better ones, huh? He thought he might hate it, given that they're from two w i l d l y different blood castes,. The more you know. "Yeah? Did you read it all the way through?"

A pause, he must be thinking. "I don't think I evver ended up finishin' it, no, but maybe I oughta. I think I stopped readin' that one 'round last March."

"Dude. That's almost a year ago."

"S'not like I do much'a anythin' wwith me bein' - wwell maybe I don't havve a good excuse for not finishin' it. I guess I oughta just do it sooner or later but I'vve been puttin' off catchin' up on all the books in my shelvves."

"Really? Why?"

"I havve a lot of books on a lot of shelvves."

"Fair."

He's putting off a lot of things, more than just those books, like having a constructive conversation with Karkat that could help them move forward. But it's fine. Small talk and banter after so long is a good leeway into bigger subjects. Karkat's being impatient. Karkat isn't taking into account either of their bodies' fatigue.

"Wwell I'll see y'wwhen y'get outta th'bath Kar, I hope it's doin' somethin' for ya."

"See ya."

He hears him walk away, and goes to open the book back up.

... Did he give an adequate response thought? He thinks to himself that Eridan is the one who keeps their conversation brief, but if he's honest, his responses have been a lot shorter and a lot harder to respond to than Eridan's. Eridan, talks. As long as he's prompted to, and maybe they haven't had their heart-to-heart yet because Eridan feels like he's talking more than he should. Maybe he feels like Karkat doesn't want to listen to him. Is he reading too much into things?

Well, it couldn't hurt to give a better attempt either way, if he remembers to listen to Eridan all the way through.

Part of him wants more small talk. Part of him wants to spend the night forgetting about all the shit he has to deal with and all the problems he has to fix. They could go back and forth with their opinions on the colors he's picked for his walls, or they could talk about where he got his couch, or his favorite tea or whatever he's doing to his hair lately that makes it look so much softer than it used to. And it would be fulfilling. And it would be exactly what he needs, and he'd get to know more about Eridan, and it wouldn't take too much effort to do. You can't have discussions about serious topics all the time. You can't claim to know someone without figuring out how they go about being themselves.

How does he get both things? He can't brush past why he's here, he doesn't want to ignore it, either. He wishes he had more time so he didn't have to pick, or cut down on one thing. Could he get away with staying another day, or half a day? Probably not. Eridan knows he can't get away with being away for long.

Wait.

He's on vacation, isn't he?

But would he be imposing on Eridan?

As if he's not already doing that. God, he didn't even think about that. The possibility that he'd be fine and that he wouldn't want to talk, that he might not want to be around people. He can't have changed that much, right? No matter how much he isolates himself. He has to want contact with people. He has to want friends. His friends meant everything to him, they were everything he ever had, and...

... Well, they didn't care much for him, not even then, but Karkat cares. He always has. He's just...

Goddamnit he's such an asshole.

Well, that gives him more to talk about, doesn't it? He's done with this bath, and this book, and these fucking delicious snacks and his kick ass gatorade and everything that reminds him that he's been a shit friend to him. Plus he's about to be wrinkly and he's getting tired and he can't fall asleep in the water.

So he pulls the drain up as he steps out, rubs himself down with the towel to get dry. He does feel a lot better, now, his muscles don't ache nearly as bad as they had been. He, feels soft, too. His skin has been unbearably dry and cracked all winter and he's been trying to figure out what the fuck to do with it - yeah, it's still a little dry. Yes, he knows long, hot baths dry your skin out. But there's gotta be something in there that's helping to fix his skin irritation. It, right. It wasn't a bubble bath. Maybe he used like, some oils or some shit? Why does he fucking care??? It's not like he's gonna go home and take another fucking bath in the next forever and a half. First thing he'll do when he gets back is stock up on more gatorade and chips because he gives not a single shit about nutrition as long as he's shoving shit into his mouth. And, that part of the 'shit' happens to be gatorade. He just wants some fucking gatorade, man. The simple pleasures.

Always off topic! He's dry now, and ready to get himself into some pajamas so he can go the fuck to -

...

Okay, he didn't forget them on purpose. Eridan's not that type of guy, and even if he _was,_ he's too scared shitless of Karkat getting hypothermia to let Karkat wear anything less than two layers of clothing to bed. I mean he obviously doesn't have it, and the symptoms won't develop now. He's simply paranoid. He knows he's paranoid about it, because that's why he took a _fucking bath._ Wasn't a bad idea of him to make him do it but it's not like he'll tell him that right now. Maybe later, if he still cares to think about it. Why the HELL does he keep wandering with his fucking - thOUGHTS - at least Eridan gave him a robe. Thank fuck.

He makes sure it covers, _enough_ of him, which it does, and tries not to slip down the stairs because his dumb ass forgot to dry he damn feet and now they're squeaky as hell.

"Uh, Eridan, do you have something I can wear, or uh..."

Eridan looks up from his current task - which, happens to be pulling something out of the oven? What in the fuck is he doing, it's like, 11 pm. He can see him looking everywhere but at his exposed skin (which is pretty much just his legs,) and his face. How courteous. His face flushes violet anyway, probably from embarrassment.

"I, swwear I left somethin' for ya Kar -"

"Yeah, this, and it works for now but like I can't sleep in this, I'll get too cold." Which is true. But he also doesn't want to be the only one who's, naked. Who wants to be fucking naked? Ever? That's too much physical vulnerability for a troll to handle in their own house, with no one around. Being naked means it's easier to get shanked. Not, like Eridan would shank him, but he's thinking like, you know, showers are fucking terrifying unless the curtains are open so you can see everything but then the curtains aren't protecting you and what happens if shampoo gets in your eye -

"I'll get y'somethin' hold on I'm so sorry Kar I'll, I'll be right back!"

"It's cool."

And then he disappears, and Karkat's standing in an open space, by himself, pulling the fabric of his robe closer together so the air doesn't find its way into any openings. At least he can stand. Are there any windows over there? No? Good. He doesn't want anyone seeing - only they wouldn't be able to see, because there's no one around to see, because Eridan has isolated himself from any sort of community and the only people that might end up being up here would be people looking to spend time in the mountains. This particular mountain isn't that popular.

Ah, there he is. His head is turned to the side as he hands him a set of clothes, and, of course, his own boxers. He must have washed them for him. Sollux just chucks one of his own clean pairs at his face when he needs to borrow some and that's a problem because Sollux is about two feet taller and half a foot wider than he is, so they never fit. Thank god, Eridan is a saint.

"Here y'are, I can get y'somethin' else if y'havve somethin' specific in mind but I hope these are okay"

"I'll tell you after I try them on or some shit like that."

"Okay."

"And don't expect me to be quick because I'm still balls deep in this chucksack of pain."

Another chuckle, he likes that. It's so nice to hear Eridan's voice after so long, and without all the panic or worry that riddles him. He doesn't talk about it with him, but he doesn't need to. He's seen it enough. He remembers.

He has to walk back up to the bathroom to change; a massive pain in the ass, though necessary. He can't wait until he doesn't have to move. The pajamas are a little bit longer than his normal ones but they fit, and they're warm, and have this fluffy softness to them, and they, smell, _really fucking good what is this and why can't he have it all the time_ _please let him take these home so he can get whatever this is to permeate his house_. Maybe his house smells like garbage, and that's why everything smells so nice here. Does he smell like garbage? Well if he did before he sure doesn't right now, thank fuck.

He yeet. He beet. He go down them stairs, and if I have to write about his stair trips one more time I'm going to chuck myself into the void because I do this to myself. I'm the reason he's constantly walking up and down the stairs, and I have issues with that, but the bathroom is up the stairs so what can I do? Make things less complicated? No. I absolutely refuse to do that.

"These are fine."

"That's good. Y'should sit on th'couch."

"Good plan."

Excellent. One step closer to his ultimate goal. He sinks into the cushions without another thought, and grabs a blanket Eridan folded on the other side of him. He hasn't felt this coddled, ever, so he's a little conflicted but for the most part he's enjoying every second of this. He resists, sure, and it sucks that he did some stupid shit to get here. It's all good now, he hopes. He hopes he's not kicking himself over Karkat's idiocy, or worried enough to be kept up at night.

Eridan passes him a bowl, and the steam wafting onto his face reddens his cheeks. The smell makes him hum involuntarily so he clears his throat to make it sound like he was holding back a cough, or clearing some mucus from his throat. Anything to avoid sounding like an idiot.

"What's this?"

Eridan huffs. He's, kinda cute when he puffs out his cheeks like that. Has he ever done that before? How has he not noticed? "Wwell I knoww for a fact that y'didn't plan far enough ahead t'consider wwhat you might be eatin' an' I doubt you evver thought t'pick somethin' up on your wway here, so I made y'somethin' that'll feel light enough t'eat on an empty stomach but'll at least last y'till mornin'. I'll probably end up feedin' ya a bigger breakfast, heavvy meals might help y'sleep but y'don't wwanna be uncomfortable."

"You made this, like, for real? Or did you heat up a fucking container or something because either way I'm not complaining."

"I made it, can't be bothered t'figure out wwhat brand a'chicken noodle I like more. That's some trivvial shit right there. I mean wwho th'hell has time t'figure out th'different tastes of evvery fuckin' chicken noodle soup? Not me. I got better shit t'do."

That's, that's so sweet? What the fuck. That's some fucking sentimental bullshit right there and he won't have it. He's a big fat liar yes he will have it and he'll soak it up like a dry sponge to hot water because he's a fucking cheeseball and Eridan doesn't need to know he's being soft does he now??? Nope. Eridan won't be able to tell. He's free to have warm gut feelings, that are immediately dunked into the garbage pit of his stomach by the crushing guilt that follows. It punches him so hard he coughs out all the air in his lungs. Eridan's eyes strain, he wraps Karkat in another blanket. Damnit, no! This time, he manages to make it a sigh.

"You know, when people don't care about their soup, they usually pull some packaged Lipton from the shelf and throw it in the cart, because it's actually less effort to buy a package than tell yourself that taste is more important."

"Oh, you'd rather resign t'a shit soup than givve twwo seconds a'your time t'make a simple broth and toss some chicken pieces in there? I made the noodles but evven if I didn't it'd still be better than a box of powwdered disappointment an' lack a'nutrition."

Karkat tries to get the spoon in his damn mouth but he can't help the snicker that comes from his chest. It causes some of the soup to go up his nose and FUCK THAT BURNS W H Y JESUS FUCKING CHRIST HOLY SHIT GET IT OUT - ah, there's a tissue. He takes it from Eridan's hand and blows his nose, luckily there's a tiny trash bin next to the couch. The first piece of trash since Eridan got home, and it's Karkat's borderline bloody snot tissue. Wonderful. "Some of us don't have the time, contrary to your impression."

"That's fair but if y'evver need some fuckin' soup I'd rather y'call me than chuck a bag a'dehydrated vomit into a pot a'boilin' wwater."

"I'll remember that next time if I'm not blowing my fucking innards out of my orifices."

"Thank y'for considerin' it Kar I appreciate it."

"Not a fucking problem."

He tries to grab another tissue to clear the rest of his runny nose but Eridan is faster than Karkat. Curses. He thanks him as he's handed yet another tissue, gets everything out with an embarrassingly loud blow of air that sounds oddly like a honk. Eridan doesn't dare look at his tissues, and dude. He wouldn't blame him. Tissues are nasty, though he's not had too much of a problem with the sight of them before? Or maybe he hasn't picked up on it yet.

Finally. Okay, this time, he can eat it. He closes his lips over the spoon and doesn't bother to stop the hum that bubbles into his throat. God, that's some fucking amazing soup. It might be his hunger that's making it taste better, and he doesn't give a single shit if that's the case because he's fucking hungry and he's about to shovel a whole damn bowl of soup into his gullet.

"This is pretty good."

"Wwell, uh, thank you."

Neither of them can think of what to add, and Karkat tries, he does, but the words fizzle out on his tongue. The conversation dies. Eridan wrings his hands together, stares into space, face expressionless except for the fleeting and shifting emotions in his eyes. He must be searching, too. Is it the right opportunity to jump at what he wants?

The moment he goes to ask him Eridan turns to walk off. No, no, no! Get back here, come on! He makes it much farther than he wants him to, halfway between the counter and the couch, before Karkat finally spits something out in an attempt to set, something, anything up.

"Aren't you gonna sit down with me?"

Not what he had planned. He wasn't thinking about it, but then it came out and he found it was exactly what he wanted. His mouth has a better connection to his heart than his brain. He's always hated that about himself, he has. Right now, he can't find a reason to be angry about it.

"Wwhy wwould you wwant me t'do that, exactly?"

"Be... cause?" He doesn't know. He doesn't know why. He wants to know why, and he'll find out, if only Eridan will come over here. It'll stir it out of his brain. It has to.

"I'vve got things t'do Kar an' you need t'eat your dinner an' I doubt it'd be any good for me t'make things awwkwward wwhile you do that."

Who the - everything has been awkward this evening! At least they could have a reason for it to be awkward, and it would keep them from having to talk so loudly. "It's only awkward if you make it awkward." Oh, and that, too!

"No, it's awwkwward because _I'm_ awwkwward, an' I'm a little bit of a -"

"Can you shut the fuck up and get over here already?"

Okay, okay. Be an asshole. That's what he's decided to do, huh? The silence is going to fucking kill him, it's churning his insides in all the worst ways. Say something, even just a fuck you. Please. Before he can think any further about his terrible decisions that he didn't actually know he was making.

"Fine. Givve me a minute t'get my cup."

An exhale. The tension is relieved for a moment, but then he's taking a while to get to the couch, and he wonders if Eridan has decided to passive-aggressively tell him his feelings about it, instead. That'd hurt so much worse.

Then, he's there. And he's holding a second mug, and he passes it to Karkat after Karkat sets his bowl on the side table.

"Another cup of tea? You know I prefer coffee right?"

"Yeah Kar, I'm gonna givve you coffee at this time'a night just 'cause y'like it better than tea. Of course I knoww y'like it better! This is somethin' for that headache you'vve got an' don't deny you'vve got one 'cause you're squintin' your eyes a lot an' you only do that wwhen your head hurts like hell."

"Fuck you."

"Wwell fuck you too then. Just tryin'ta be considerate a'your condition right noww Kar."

"I know, I know."

The spice fills his lungs with the warmth of home and his heart beats slower, knots in his stomach loosen up. Ginger, lemon, and honey. This must be for his mucus buildup that he's getting, then? He takes a sip as Eridan finally settles next to him, and the combined heat of the drink flooding his limbs and Eridan's close proximity have his face red yet again. It's, not that he feels for him or anything, and that's true! Karkat doesn't feel red feelings for anyone, but this is much closer than he thought it would be. And it's not at a time Karkat has to give his mental and emotional effort. It's them, being close. That's it. He, okay, they're gonna talk in a little bit but it's on Karkat's terms! It's not for surrogate therapy reasons. This is for Karkat.

He's daring. Pushing his limits. He scoots a little closer, not enough for Eridan to take notice, and then he catches a whiff of what's in Eridan's mug. Is that, is that fucking coffee? He has _coffee?_

"That smells way too strong to be a nighttime drink."

"Wwell I havve more I'vve gotta do before I go t'bed t'night, seein' as I just got back from a real long trip. The caffeine isn't good for me 'cause I'm not technically s'posed t'have it wwith my meds but it wwon't do anythin' too bad. Just raises my heart rate a little higher than normal an' makes me real anxious so I can't handle stress as wwell."

"Huh. Is, that why you weren't online?"

"Yeah. Don't havve reception evverywwhere I go, I mean I might havve it sometimes but I figure it's easy just t'keep it off wwhile I'm out there on the road. Keepin' it on evven wwhile I'm home doesn't do much for me. Wwhy havve all a'that draggin' me behind wwhen I'm somewwhere that can't judge me and doesn't wwanna? That an' I feel like I gotta respect evverythin' I get t'see out there."

That's what he's been up to. Doing, actual stuff, instead of sitting in his house, to himself. Though he doubts he went with anyone, with the way he's talking. Must be refreshing to be able to drop everything and go and not have to worry about what'll be waiting for him when he gets back - no, he said he had things to do. What things? Can he, know these things?

He's gotta catch him before he goes off and Karkat is left to himself for the rest of the night, and there's no way in hell he's gonna let himself fall to sleep in the middle of it.

"... Can I have a sip?"

"Are y'plannin' on goin' t'bed Kar or not?"

Fuck going to bed. "I, well. I, kind of came here to talk to you about some things, and I want to be able to stay awake long enough to do it."

The atmosphere shifts back into tension, Eridan stares into his mug for, a long while. He's made him anxious. He doesn't want that.

"I, I suppose so."

His hands tremble slightly as he passes him the mug of, surprisingly cold coffee, which he trades off his tea for. He can't tell what it's about to taste like, there's no smell.

One sip and his eyes are watering, mouth searing. It's not the temperature.

"Fucking hell this shit is burning my damn tongue! What the fuck is in this fucking cup?!"

"I guess I shoulda figured y'wouldn't like it all that much but It's not like I can keep you from wwantin' t'try it Kar. It's got like four different kinds'a coffee in it cause I can't be bothered t'givve a shit as long as I'm gettin' the rush'a energy I need. I think one'a them has chili pepper in it too."

"Why?! Why do you need chili pepper in your fucking coffee?!"

"Can't be sleepin' if your mouth burns so bad you're contemplatin' rippin it right outta your body."

"Hm. You have a point." And it's absolutely fair. Karkat's not going to be comfortable enough to go to sleep anytime soon, and the burn worsens when he sips back at his cup. He'd cry. Maybe. If he gave a shit.

And then he does give a shit, but not about himself.

"Hey wait a minute aren't you more sensitive to literally everything than I am? Like doesn't being part fish make your membranes soak more particles in on contact?"

"Dunno. Not all fish are as sensitivve as you think, I dunno wwhether I'm more like a salmon or like a goldfish. Probably more like a shark than anythin', wwhich wwould probably make me more sensitivve t'stuff than if I wwas like a salmon or somethin' - wwhy the hell is this relevvant?"

"Don't uh, destroy yourself with this fucking monstrosity of a beverage."

"S'not like there's much else t'do besides chuck it in th'sink. Better t'drink it as long as it'll do its job."

"Are you the type of person who buys cherry cough syrup just because they can't be fucking bothered to go and find a better flavor then?"

"I make my owwn."

"You fucking what now"

"I make my owwn. S'cheaper and I can put wwhatevver I wwant in it. Wworks better too."

"Since when do you care about things being cheap?"

"I get sick a lot, I think I'd go broke if I bought myself cough syrup evverytime I needed it."

"Aren't you fucking loaded?"

"Wwell, that oughta tell y'enough about howw much I get sick, then."

Can he even imagine him being sick enough to warrant cough syrup? He tries to, and it doesn't work very well. Eridan's always seemed to be healthy. Besides, uh. Being, dead for a while. Would him being sick be like that, but, with color in his eyes?

Now he sees it. He doesn't like it. It makes him, feel cold.

Karkat scoots even closer, hoping maybe Eridan is warmer.

He's not.

He has to do something before the unease pools in his body.

"I, okay before we get sidetracked yet again by some meaningless object or I try to fucking avoid my own bullshit I have to start this fucking conversation because I'm about to internally blow my fucking thinkpan lid."

"I don't knoww wwhat you're here for so yeah, you're gonna havve'ta start it, but I did see that y'attempted t'contact me this mornin' on Trollian."

A deep breath, and then another one.

"First thing, don't fucking scare me like that again. I want to at least know you're leaving the day you're leaving holy shit Eridan why the fuck would you even be gone that long - doesn't fucking matter as long as I know you're not all of the sudden dead okay? God. I almost chewed through my fucking hand this morning."

"Got it. I'll tell you next time Kar but wwhatevver the hell you wwere doin' before y'sent that text can't wwarrant you fuckin' stayin' up 'till the ass crack a'dawwn in th'middle a'the darkest part a'the year. I knoww your sleepin' habits. Y'don't like t'be up that long or that early."

"Okay, sure, but it's not like you'd have known anyway if I hadn't sent you a message."

"You're damn right but can y'please make a better attempt t'take care a'yourself?"

"I could say the same thing to you but for completely different reasons that I'll get into after this and I'll promise to take better care of myself if you can promise me something a little bit later."

"Okay Kar, I'll keep that in mind."

"Good, but I don't want you to fucking promise me shit just so you'll get me to do shit. Lucky for me, I know you don't make empty promises anyway. I want you to make the promise for yourself though and not for me because I'm not fucking here for me I'm here because I'm here for you."

Eridan trembles harder. He didn't realize he'd still been shaking, and he hopes it's the caffeine and not nerves alone. Goddamnit he, he said caffeine makes it worse didn't he? Shit, shit. He picked the shittiest time to talk about it and he can't turn back.

"That doesn't make much sense Kar, seein' as I don't havve any fuckin' friends."

"We'll also get to that. Moving on. I..."

Some more thoughts that make him Roblox Oof right in all the squishiest parts of his gut, including literally everything leading up to this moment and how Eridan's had to deal with some Shit today.

"Listen, man, I've been a real jerk."

"Kar, n-"

"Yes I have! And before I give any other reasoning, because I know you'll deny everything else I say, I forgot to fucking tell you happy tenth sweep who the FUCK does that?!"

"Evveryone else I know? 'Xcept Cro an' Kri, an' Dirk for some reason."

"What in the FUCK do you mean Dirk told you happy tenth sweep?"

"I mean exactly that Kar. He got my handle from Cro an' decided t'tell me happy tenth sweep 'cause he wwas actually interested in bein' my friend? He talks t'me sometimes but it's not often."

"Ohmygod. Dirk talks to you more than I do doesn't he?"

"Wwell yeah. He does. A lot a'people from th'alpha session talk t'me more than you do, an' that's just howw it happens Kar. I knoww you're real busy and t'be honest I'm not th'best t'talk to so I get it."

"Okay. Alright. I guess that makes some fucking sense considering you actually have a close relationship with your ancestor/brother/whatever the fuck you call him but it doesn't make me any less angry with myself."

Angry enough to see red, though he knows his eyes aren't turning colors. Fucking idiot. Fucking, idiot! It's not that hard to remember someone's birthday. All it would have taken, all he would have had to give was ten minutes of his time. Ten minutes, including remembering, pulling his phone out, and typing happy birthday. That's with Eridan replying. That's with them talking. It would take two for him to do it alone, and to go back to his day, ignoring whatever might happen next. Dirk, someone who hasn't even spent a full hour in Eridan's presence, did the ONE thing Karkat failed to do on his tenth sweep. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck this, fuck him. Karkat doesn't deserve to be talking to Eridan right now, and yet, here's Eridan, giving him his time, when he wants to be taking care of tasks that'll only grow harder to do the more he puts them off.

"You don't need t'be angry wwith yourself Kar."

And there he goes. He has the audacity to act like it's not a big deal, to brush himself off to make Karkat feel better about it. No. No, that won't slide. Not here, not now, not ever again.

Not as long as Karkat can help it.

"Maybe I do need to be angry with myself! Sometimes you have to do that! Sometimes you have to go 'why in the fuck are you like this' because who else is going to tell you you're doing it wrong?" He'll paint it as the need for Karkat to be honest with himself, right now. If he pushes against him? If he continues to sweep himself under the rug? He doesn't know if he can hold his feelings back.

"I get that part a'it I do, but you aren't doin' anythin' wrong Kar! And y'didn't do anythin' wrong then! Y'wwere caught up in somethin' because y'clearly care enough t'say somethin' about it, evven if it wwas a little late, an' i nevver expected that a'you, an' I nevver expected y't'drop evverythin' an' givve me a second a'your time wwhen you couldn't."

"But I could! I could have done it and I didn't!"

"It's okay, y'already told me y'forgot, I knoww you coulda an' that it wwas an issue a'memory so there musta been somethin' takin' your energy."

No! NO!

"I shouldn't have given it my energy is the point I'm trying to make!"

"Kar you'vve got stuff t'do all the time! So many other people t'talk to!"

"But I don't WANNA talk to them! I wanna talk to YOU!"

Nothing. Nothing, for what feels like hours, as Karkat's feelings sear and bite at him. They want out. Not yet, not yet, not until he can think of something else to say, not until he can keep his voice level. He doesn't want it to rise. He doesn't want his tone of voice heated. It'll scare him. He's probably already scared him. He's trying so hard but everything is scorching hot and it only grows hotter with every breath he takes.

"You do?"

"I, fucking duh! Why do you think I'm here? It's not just to apologize for being a shithead or tell you to fucking quit the shit, I'm here to talk to you. I texted you this morning because I wanted to. And because you popped into my head. And because you're a break from all of my friends who feed me shit every morning for breakfast! They shovel shit into my earholes and my fucking mouth and my stupid eyesockets but you don't even talk to me unless I talk to you first! And you're never shoveling garbage down my fucking throat, and I need that in my life!"

It's selfish of him, to want.

"I need someone who wants to be my fucking friend, not tug me around and milk me for every drop of life force I have. You're one of the few friends I have that's healthy for me and you're never around enough for me to enjoy you like I want to."

It's selfish of him, to ask.

"I didn't even tell you happy birthday because I was focused on other people's problems when I should have been giving you my time. Something. Something other than nothing, Eridan. One message was all it would have taken for you to know I hadn't forgot. But I did forget."

Selfish of him to take, and not give.

"I forgot all about it and now I can't, do anything about it, except for say I'm sorry."

And he is sorry.

He's so sorry, and that's not even half of what wants to come out.

He, hates, silence, especially after he's talking. He doesn't want to interrupt Eridan's thoughts because he knows he needs to think but it doesn't feel like he's processing any of his feelings and he can't take one more minute of him shutting himself off.

"I, look, I know it was fucking shitty of me but I need some feedback from you or I'm gonna scream."

"Sorry, I, didn't expect that from you Kar."

"Expect what from me?"

"Evverythin'."

"This is what you should be expecting. You should be expecting people to care and to do something about their fucking feelings, even if it's too late for them to really do anything. Eridan, come on. You deserve better than this. You deserve to be valued and sought out and, talked to. At the bare minimum, talked to."

"I..."

"And I know it's hard for you to think about but you really should value yourself a little more! And I'm tired of you pushing yourself back to make others feel better, including me. You did it just a minute ago. I can quote you, so don't fucking deny it, okay? I want you to think about it. I want you to try."

Nothing. He's turned away from him. Why. Why? If he won't speak to him he can at least look at him, please. Please.

Please?

"Can you at least promise me this? Can you talk to me when you want to talk to me, from now on? A hello. Even an emoji. I'll take anything and god, I'll probably need it too."

"Why?"

"I miss you."

So much, he misses him so much. He doesn't ever think about it until it's already so bad he's stuck at his computer or phone internally begging for a response. Bargaining with nothing. Clawing at his face in anticipation and hoping he hasn't left this world. Why hasn't he told him this before? Eridan should know. Eridan should know he's missed, that he's cared about. That he's needed. He,

He needs Eridan in his life. He said that already, but it didn't hit him then. He needs him, right now. All he gets instead is more, of that, fucking heart-wrenching lack of words, that he can't find any meaning in. Fuck. No.

"Yeah, I know you don't believe me, but I do. I miss you. Please."

Promise him, Eridan.

"Come on."

Promise him you'll stop being an afterthought in your own life. 

Please.

_Please._

He stops hiding his need to be closer, and presses himself against his back, rests his head against his shoulder. He's still colder than the outside weather. He doesn't care. He'll endure it, he'll get used to it, he'll learn to revel in it as long as he needs to to feel like he's with him again. He squeezes his arm, too, he tries not to do it too hard, he doesn't want to hurt him. He feels like he's trying to squeeze an answer out of him, and part of him is. He needs one. He needs a yes or a no. One word. One word is all it takes. He can't breathe. What happens if he lets go? Does, Eridan walk away, if he lets go? He can't. He won't.

"O, Okay. I wwill, Kar."

That's not only four whole words, that's four whole words that mean yes. That mean a promise.

"Thank fuck. Thank fuck, that makes me feel a lot better." Karkat smiles into Eridan's shoulder as he leans further into his back. He can't hear it, he doesn't register, but he's giving a soft purr that tickles Eridan's fins enough to make them twitch. Stupid. He's stupid, but he's happy and stupid.

Eridan doesn't push him away, doesn't stop him from snuggling up a little bit, and that makes his stupid little bloodpusher of a heart swell with warmth. His limbs are cold, though, so he wraps the blanket around them the best he can. His arms are too small. Eridan helps him the rest of the way so he doesn't strain himself trying.

"Is, that evverythin' y'wwanted to brush ovver, or...?"

"I don't know. I think that's all I came here for but now I'm curious about a lot of things, and I,"

He doesn't mind silence for now. He wouldn't care if they sat like this for the rest of his two weeks off. But he...

"Is it okay if we hang out for a while? It doesn't have to be long, like, even fifteen minutes is better than nothing. I wanna talk."

"About wwhat?"

"How was your day?"

"Really Kar? You wwanna talk about _my_ Day?"

That's a fair response.

"Listen I get it, I do, but I'm genuinely curious. I wanna know."

Eridan loves to make his bloodpusher leap into his damn throat with how often he's silent doesn't he? He's gonna fucking suffocate.

"You do."

"Yeah?"

About everything he wasn't here for, at least, because he can only imagine he's emotionally taxed. He'll curse himself out later. He's glad he didn't wait too long to answer him.

"Wwell I, did a lot'a drivvin' t'day. Not as much as th'other days but I still wwent a little wways considerin' I'd stopped in Portland the day before. Portland is a wweird place. I saww a group a'dudes wwalkin' aroun' naked wwith their pet chickens. It wwas real gross but hey, that's wwhat y'get for stayin' in Portland."

"You what"

"They'vve got lawws allowwin' nudity in public but it's alwways so wweird. Humans are, eeueuugh nevvermind I don't wwanna think about it but breakfast wwas nice. An' then I drovve through Wwashington an' picked up my groceries cause I mean I gotta stock the fridge after not bein' here for three wweeks."

"You were gone, the whole time? Like. The _whole_ time. If I'd messaged you earlier you wouldn't have seen it?"

"Nope. I wwouldn't've, I'vve been gone 'till about four pm t'day."

"God damn, I should have talked to you before you left."

"Kar."

"Right, right. Anything else?"

"I mean I took a bath an' ate dinner an' read some but then you showwed up an' that wwas th'rest a'it - OH! I talked t'Gam."

Shit. He completely forgot about that. His fucking moirail is probably ready to choke him out for being an idiot, or he would be, if he wasn't more forgiving. Gamzee deals with so much of his shit, always knows exactly what Karkat needs, even when Karkat doesn't. He fucking loves Gamzee.

"Oh man."

"Yeah. Don't scare th'shit outta your moirail again Kar, evveryone's been wworried about you. They'vve been tryin' to reach you all day. I told him you wwere okay an' then I guess wwe just talked for a little bit?"

"About, what?"

"About things. Mostly 'bout howw sober he's been, an' I had no idea he'd been doin' so good about it!"

"Yeah, he's great."

A small pause, but only for a few seconds. Thank god. Thank god they're really talking some.

"You smoke wweed?"

Oh jesus no not that Gamzee was supposed to keep that on the downlow! "ONLY SOMETIMES OKAY???" Sometimes is still smoking weed. Good thing Eridan can keep his fucking mouth shut.

"Heh, I can only imagine howw you'd be high. Actually, I can't. That'd be a sight t'see."

"Maybe I'll invite you then next time asshat, see how you like being high."

"I mean if you wwant but my body doesn't do good wwith drugs. I'm evven sensitivve t'a lotta medications an' one a'my doctor's been fuckin' me up real bad lately. Got me on some sort of steroid that just fuckin' tanks my system but noww I can't be off steroids or else I'm in real trouble."

"What kind?"

"Th'kind that makes your body manufacture a chemical it needs t'livve."

O, Oh. Oh no.

"Ohmygod I had no idea, are you...? Are you gonna be okay?" Because if he won't be okay, he has a fucking doctor to eat.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I found a different doctor an' they're gonna try an' fix me back up wwith somethin' that's not a steroid but I havve t'see the other doctor too for a bit wwhile I transition t'my other meds so I still get th'care I gotta get."

"Alright. Um, but are you gonna be okay?"

"I told you-"

No, not like that. "No, like, do you need any support?"

"I, dunno, Kar. I havven't really thought about that."

"I think you should think about it."

"Wwell maybe I'll think about it then."

Good, good. He likes that. He's already making good on his promise to him. His smile widens, before he remembers to not be an absolute dumbass. Too late for that though.

"This was supposed to be about your day."

"No, s'okay. I didn't really wwanna talk about it too much anywway. Wwasn't all that great a'a car trip."

A longer pause. He doesn't want things to die out.

"Do you even enjoy going on those?"

"I do! They take a lotta energy though so I gotta savve them for wwhen I can handle them, and for wwhen I'm doin' better on my meds. Plus I gotta make sure I'vve got enough t'last me th'wwhole trip so I don't run out in th'middle'a nowwhere."

"Yeah, yeah."

He, has a, stupid idea. He probably shouldn't execute it.

"Would you mind me, tagging along, sometime?"

Aaaaand, there he goes.

"You'd wwanna go?"

"Yeah."

Eridan reaches his arm over to place his mug on the side table, but Karkat takes it from him and does it for him so he doesn't have to strain too hard.

"For howw long?"

"However long you'd wanna take me for, I guess."

This time, he can tell he's thinking in the silence. That's good. He likes that.

"I'll tell y'the next time I'm plannin' t'take one an' wwe'll see if you're free."

"Yeah, yeah. That sounds great."

It drops dead, but it's because they don't feel like they have to fill in for anything. Karkat feels fuller. He feels lighter. The silence is full of warmth and content, it's more like a blanket draped over the both of them instead of a crushing weight threatening to end everything between them. Eridan readjusts himself so that he's laying down, and Karkat lays next to him. Rests his head on his chest. Listens to the beating of his heart, runs his hand over it.

"I wanna talk to you more."

"About?"

"Everything?"

"Wwhat d'y'mean?"

"I wanna know what you've been doing ever since I last saw you."

"That wwas a feww years ago."

"I know."

Maybe, now isn't the time, he thinks. He brought it up but he's feeling a little sleepy, and he wants to be awake for all of it, doesn't want to miss a thing. Getting to know him a little better will have to wait, but he'll let his mouth run for him anyway, because then his feelings won't be pent up, and Eridan will know what he wants to do later.

"I don't think I can talk t'y'about it right noww Kar, it's a lot t'talk about an' I don't havve the energy for it."

"Okay." He thought he might not, which is perfectly fine. Almost preferable.

"But I'll tell y'about it th'more wwe spend time together? It'll be easier an' more natural that wway anywway."

"Yeah, I'd like that."

More time with Eridan, on Eridan's terms, on Karkat's terms. People who don't let themselves do what they want, doing things they want to do together. The thought makes him purr louder, makes his eyelids heavy with sleepy peace.

"I, don't even know that much about you from when we were younger."

"That, uh."

His heart beats faster. He doesn't like that.

"Do y'wwanna wwatch somethin'?"

"Sure."

He turns the TV on and flips it to some bullshit channel. It's all for background noise, he's avoiding things. That's okay. He's allowed to avoid things. He's gotten everything he's needed from him today, so if he needs to not do the thing, he shouldn't have to do the thing. It's not like Karkat wants to worry about it right now, either.

The longer they sit, the heavier sleep gets. Eridan's heartbeat has calmed, and the slow, drumming pace has Karkat barely able to lift his hand, but he's not ready to close his eyes.

"I don't wanna go to sleep until I talk to you some more." What he really wants, is to hear Eridan's voice.

"Kar, you're talkin' like you'll nevver talk t'me again. I'll be here t'morroww. I'll be here most a'th'time. Wwhenevver you're free."

"But I..." He, nothing. If he eggs him on, he can feel his words rumble in his chest, against Karkat. He likes the feeling. It makes him tingle a little bit.

"Kar. Please?"

"Okay."

The TV drones on. Neither of them are listening.

"You're gonna be here when I wake up, right?" Karkat grips at the fabric of Eridan's shirt absentmindedly, desperate. It's not something he was thinking about until it came from his mouth, and now it's making him anxious, he couldn't, he can't, what if he -

"Wwhat kinda question is that Kar this is my fuckin' house. I just told y'I'd be here."

Mm, more of those wonderful rumbles, and from such beautiful words. "Just making sure you're not going anywhere."

"M'not, I mean, unless I get groceries or somethin' t'morroww but I already got those."

"Cool."

Karkat, finally feeling whole and fulfilled after so long, gives into sleep. Eridan lays with him there, for a while, but he knows he'll get cold again if he keeps cuddling against him, and Eridan's not sure he can handle being so close to him for so long, because he won't be able to let go. He carefully, so as not to disturb him, gets up with him in his arms. He keeps his eyes away from Karkat as he carries him up the stairs, slowly, into the guest bedroom, and tucks him in so he'll stay warm. He, wants to look, so badly.

So, very badly, but he can't. Not without his permission.

A soft squeeze to his hand, when Eridan indulges in himself a little, and he turns off the light, stands in the doorway for a moment. He'd stay, he'd sleep next to him. If only he felt he could.

"G'night Kar."


	7. I have never wanted to break my legs more than I have today

The morning light drapes over Karkat's sleeping face, illuminating the way his features twist and turn in his sleep. This, of course, does not last, because Karkat is a light sleeper.

Karkat grumbles as he props himself onto his elbows. His arms, still aching from yesterday, are not happy with this arrangement and so he sways, but he manages to steady himself and sit halfway up. Where...? Where is he? Whose bed is this? These aren't his clothes. Is he - well, he has underwear on, at least, and it's his _own,_ not someone else's. So then...

... Oh, yeah. As Karkat gives himself a minute to breathe, everything from yesterday washes over him. It's not that he didn't remember in the first place; how could he forget the way his body hated him? It's more like, he thought it wasn't real. That it was some sort of dream, and that maybe he'd passed out halfway there and he was slowly dying on the road or some shit like that. The first time he's seen Eridan in a sweep... he didn't manage to take a good enough look at him, unfortunately, because when he tries to think of his face now, it's blurry, or it's how he remembers him from the first time he saw him. Maybe he'd get a good visual if Eridan would _look,_ at him, instead of looking at his hair or his shirt or some shit. He should have sneaked a peek of him while he was cuddled up to him but he, he wanted to fucking cuddle damnit. And he shouldn't have to _sneak_ a look at him! Eridan should be comfortable with being seen, and seeing Karkat.

He'd do something about it but the bed is so soft, and warm, and the air outside of it is cold, and he doesn't feel like moving anyway. He can indulge. He's allowed to let himself relax on his vacation. And thank god he's getting some time to himself too, because he needs time away from all of his...

... Friends. Goddamnit. His friends are probably scared to all hell unless Gamzee felt like telling them what the hell was, and still is, going on. Does he have to go home? If he breaks his legs can he stay here? Maybe he'll get himself sick, go outside or swallow some dirt or something. Eridan wouldn't let him leave if he was sick, would he?

But that's a lot on Eridan. It's not like he asked to take care of Karkat's stupid ass.

He groans, stumbles out of bed. He should give him a proper apology, or at least offer to help around the house, if he has some fucking time. He's supposed to have time. He'll make time, as long as Eridan accepts it. There's a possibility he'll send him home ASAP, which means either Gamzee will have to come and get him, or Eridan plans on taking him himself. He can take time with Eridan in the car. He'll find a way to either entertain himself or get Eridan to talk some more. The thought of hearing his voice again is what gets him to march his ass downstairs to see if Eridan is up.

His vision is still a little blurry from waking up so abruptly, though, it's starting to clear up. What's that smell? It, smells really good... Eridan's house seems to have a lot of different smells, but all of them are fucking amazing. He rubs his eyes and looks into the kitchen.

"Eridan?"

A blob he presumes is Eridan whips around from what he's doing and puts down whatever he was holding. He wishes he could fucking see right now, so he could give himself a visual to remember.

"Oh, hey Kar. I wwas about t'go get ya but I guess y'savved me th'trouble."

"Uh, yeah. Good, morning Eridan."

"Good mornin'. Did y'sleep wwell?"

"I did, actually, thank you for asking."

"That's good, that's good."

Karkat steps onto the tile, comes closer. Eridan moves to look away from him again as he does, focused on, chopping up some ginger. That's what he's doing, now that he can see. His hair isn't styled like it normally is, falls down his head in loose, messy curls, stopping just before it reaches his neck. He moves to adjust his sweater, pull the sleeve back onto his shoulder, but it slips down again as soon as he moves his hand. As he gets even closer, his skin is littered in scars, big and small alike, and there's one that dips just under his sweater that he can't see, right between his shoulder blades. It's also peppered in freckles - though he knows his face isn't, even if he doesn't quite remember it.

There's a strange, gravitation towards him, a feeling bubbling in his chest that he can't identify yet. It strengthens with every scar, every freckle that his eyes roll over, with every inch of tile he crosses. He can't act on it. He might, if he knew what it was. He wraps his arms around Eridan's stomach and Eridan flinches, freezes mid-chop, even, failing to pull the knife away from the ginger, and he stays like that until he can find it in him to feel comfortable enough to relax his tense muscles. Karkat doesn't make an effort to look past him, instead choosing to press his face into the fabric of his sweater. He's... still so cold. Will he always be this cold? If he goes to hug him, like, really hug him, will it be worse than this? Is this normal for a seadweller? Is Feferi warmer because of her blood color, or because she's somehow a mutated troll too?

He takes a deep breath in, filling his lungs with sweet, dry, salted air, of the shoreline and of the desert and of the mountains and of the forests of the tropics all at the same time. He can't identify everything and right now, he doesn't plan to. He hopes he can take it home with him. Wishes he could pack it up in a little box and carry it with him wherever he went. It's so calming. Makes him feel... excited? No, maybe energetic is the right word. Who cares? He's thinking too hard about it, enjoying it more than he should be. He manages to get himself to rip his head from its place in the fabric and lift it enough to get a good look at what's going on.

Eridan has, certainly been busy this morning.

"What's all this?" His voice is gravelly still, with how groggy he is, head slowly leaning back down on Eridan.

"Br,eakfast?"

"Cool, cool."

His hands are itching to do something else, but what? What else would they do? Would they help him with the remainder of breakfast, would they end up flailing about, would they... end up tangled in his hair? In his own hands? Or maybe they'd, end up pushing up his sweater, slipping underneath the knit and snaking up his -

Hm. That's a weird thought to have, but he brushes it off as being horny somewhere in the back of his mind. It wasn't, entirely sexual though? Eridan could be giving off some sicknasty troll pheromones that'd be messing with his head, though if he was reacting to them, it wouldn't be just _his_ pheromones. Whatever. If something weird is happening between them this morning, he hopes Eridan will brush it off as half-asleep morning vibes. The cuddles though? This, hug? He'll stand by them 100%, they were completely conscious choices and they're absolutely perfect.

Something in him spills out that he didn't know was still on his mind. "Listen Eridan, I'm, uh, I'm sorry about, about last night."

"Wwell y'don't seem t'be sick or anythin' so I figure it's okay as long as y'don't go catchin' a cold soon as you get home Kar. Wwouldn't be too good t'yourself if y'did y'knoww? An' keep yourself outta trouble you fuckin' douchenozzle or you're gonna scare the shit outta evveryone's asses. 'Specially mine Kar an' you don't wwant me t'come ovver an' scold you for doin' stupid shit do you?"

Eridan shifts slightly to half-face him, but his eyes are fixed on his own hands. No freckles on his cheeks, just as he thought. His curiosity keeps his gaze on Eridan's skin.

"I, well I guess I'm sorry for that but I actually meant the... really awkward bit where we talked."

"Oh."

Careful Karkat, don’t want a repeat of last night. Eridan leans into him as he scrapes the ginger into a bowl, filling what little space they had left between themselves. They didn’t have much, but the gap between their legs is gone. Karkat’s tongue coils in his throat, choking off any words he could have meant to say to him, any thoughts that were lingering on his lips. Speaking of, if, Eridan could turn a little more, that’d be great.

"I don't think y'really havve anythin' t'be apologizin' for Kar. I wwish I had said more 'cause I had a lotta things t'say but they wwouldn't come out I guess?"

"You did?"

"I did."

He can believe it, but he can't accept that Eridan's words would ever get lost before he could speak them. Eridan doesn't forget things; it's not in his nature. He has the moment he entered Sgrub memorized to the very second, has every birthday down that he can possibly manage (not that it's too hard, all of the alpha trolls and humans share birthdays with their beta counterparts. Still.) If he did forget them, because it's possible, it was because he was focusing on the next thing in his head, or something else he should have said. What he really should have done was say them all.

"Um, I would have loved to hear it."

"You wwoulda?"

"Yeah. If you ever end up remembering and it ends up being important we could..."

What could they do together that would address their feelings? It would have to be more casual, hopefully the proposition would feel like he meant to get closer, and still feel like he was staying out of quadrants. Not like Eridan is looking for quadrants, he simply doesn't want to confuse him.

"I think we could schedule a day to talk about, our feelings?"

That, sounds so fucking cheesy. It's what they'd be doing, it's not like he wants to do much else on days he talks about his own feelings anyway, and to have a day blocked out is so much better than things popping up when they're actually trying to hang out sometime, right?

"Like, like a feelin's jam, or...?"

"Similar to that, yeah. If you're okay with it of course!"

Eridan's head tilts to the side as he turns away from Karkat to warm the pan. The butter melts into a shallow, even pool at the bottom, an accurate representation of Karkat's grip on his feelings slipping away from him. It can't be any warmer than the pressure beneath his ribs, like a piece of clothing fresh from the dryer that promises the feeling of home and belonging. He's overly emotional today. His feelings are confusing themselves with the relief he feels from being away from home, from the weight that's been suffocating him being lifted, for a brief moment. Maybe it's the warmth between an old friendship, one he's long forgotten. The kind you get from sitting underneath the color-shifting sky with a spiced drink in hand, leaning on the side of the person next to you, fingers intertwined as everything fades to black, and then you feel the chill of the air seep through your jacket and rush back inside to get cozy again. Not, that flushed. That feels flushed. He means like the ones you get from - yet every example he comes up with fits in the flushed quadrant. Sometimes his head chases pale feelings until it convinces itself they're something more than that, like it's done with Gamzee, John, and Dave before Eridan. And to have things turn so quickly? He can't take himself seriously until he's given himself time to stew things over.

A hand devoid of the warmth he feels brushes over his knuckles, rescues him from his thoughts and he sucks in a breath. He can fill it with that warmth. He can, if he'll... If he reaches out, will he let him, do...?

Eridan's hand retracts itself at Karkat's action. Great, he's scared him away. Or, that's what he thinks, anyway, until it drifts back down to rest over Karkat's, yields to the fingers that lace themselves in it. Warmth, and touch. Contact is what he needs, and Karkat will give it to him. Karkat's other hand drifts up his stomach until it rests on the space just underneath his ribs. He hasn't, given him an answer yet, but he won't push, not at the risk of him taking this away from him, the both of them. It's perfect how it is right now. Don't, break away.

His eyes flutter as the rumbling of Eridan's chest fills his palm and courses up his arm. "I think that wwould be real nice Kar."

They stand there, still, clinging to each other for as long as they can. Any time Eridan has to grab something, Karkat moves with him, in one fluid motion that feels more like a dance between the two of them. Eridan doesn't object. The heat from the pan and from Karkat's body thaw him enough to where his joints don't pop every time they move. His thoughts settle into the silence, drift away with every breath of his scent. He almost falls to sleep, buried deep in the black fabric of his sweater, but Eridan keeps him just above the surface of unconsciousness. He doesn't mind. He doesn't want to wake up and have the moment be gone. Not when he needs it. Not when they need it, for themselves, and for what's between them.

Eridan - no, where is he going? Why did he leave? He watches intently as Eridan places things down on the table, and he reaches for something to take there, too. His hair is a lot longer than it looks, frames his face better when it's down, though it blocks Karkat's view every time he tries to look at his features. Damnit. Damn it all. One, good look is all he needs, he keeps getting distracted by the small things, like the bunching of his sleeves at the wrists of his delicate hands, or the slender silver bands wrapped around his long fingers. It's not even important things! He loses time in his own grumpiness and before he knows it the table is set and they're sitting across from each other. So, so far away. But he'll, get the chance to see him now, right? One look at his face...

He tries to get it, but it's not coming easy. He never took Eridan as the type to eat with his head down.

"I, can get Gamzee to drive me home if you need me to -"

"No Kar, I'm takin' y'home, no offense t'Gam or Sol or wwhoevver y'might contact t'pick you up but I need t'make sure you get there safe if that makes sense?"

"I get it, I get it."

The silence grows heavier the longer Eridan keeps his head down. Why? What's going on in that head of his? He could lighten it up, if they weren't so far apart.

"Kar."

"Yeah?"

His breathing, just as silent as before, wavers.

"Wwhy didn't you call me?"

Each word is a swing to the bloodpusher, static and white noise hardened by the heartbroken softness of his voice. Barely on the edge of trembling. Why didn't he call him?

"I wwoulda picked you up, you knoww that, right? My Trollian may havve been offline but I alwways havve my servvice on."

An agonizing blow, one that twists his stomach in thick, acid-filled knots. Always has his service on. _Always has his service on._ He'd given him his number before, long ago, the last time they saw each other face-to-face. He kept that paper in his jacket pocket, thumbed over the indents where his penmanship marked the material fondly. It was in there. It hadn't even been taken out for him to stare at, though he wanted to stare at it. It was such a lovely gift, even if Eridan might not think it. Something happened and the next time his hand slipped in to graze it, it was gone. He keeps his service on for the very few people who have his number. For him. For _him._ If he'd called and, he had cell service available at any time he would have, he would have answered. Ow. Ow. Ow. _Ow._ Stop burning. Stop, burning, it, it hurts!

What does he tell him? What, can he tell him? He doesn't know if he can come up with some shitty excuse, but telling the truth sounds exactly like an excuse he might have come up with. God. He should have come to him the second he lost it, instead of telling himself Trollian would be enough.

"I, don't have your number. I know you gave it to me! I wanted to put it in my phone, I really did, but I got pulled into something else and I misplaced the slip of paper. Sorry about that, Eridan..."

For some reason, it works. It's enough for things to calm down on the other side of the table. Good, good. "I wwas hopin' that wwas th'case an' that it wwasn't you bein' afraid t'call me up. D'you, wwant it still?"

"Of course." God, of course he does. He didn't even know how much he needed it until right now. Anything to have it, and yet he doesn't have to try at all.

"Here, lemme put it in your phone - unless you're more comfortable puttin' it in yourself?"

"You can put it in if it's easier!"

Eridan nods and Karkat catches a glimpse of the violet hidden in his black mop of hair, can almost see his eyes as he passes his phone to him. Their hands are together, then apart. Karkat has to keep himself from reaching for them again, or at least one of them, to hold while he puts his number in. Sometimes he does that with Gamzee while he's doing things. It's, not uncommon for people to do that. Being close is good.

"Here y'go Kar."

His phone is back in his hand, so he takes a minute to look over the contact info. There it is. He can feel the indent of every number in the tips of his fingers as he flicks his eyes past them, feel the way Eridan wrote it in his neat handwriting. He won't forget it this time. He'll take the time to dial it out as long as there's not an emergency. He also takes a moment to look at his contact name, then changes it to something that fits him better. Eridan is, well, it's his name, but he goes by the feelings people elicit when he looks at their messages. He'll find a photo later, maybe take one.

"Thanks." Thank god, it's finally his. "Um, do you want mine too?"

"I, wwell I figure I'll get it wwhen y'contact me -"

BullshIT. "I want you to have mine in case you need to contact me sooner, or, if you want to. You don't have to limit your calls and texts to emergencies, Eridan."

Please don't limit them, Eridan. He wants to hear from you as much as the two of you get the chance to talk to each other.

"... Okay."

Eridan hands him his own phone - thin, and sleek, lightweight too. It only takes a moment or two to fill his contact information in, but he lingers over the page a little longer. What can he add? There's not much to add, no place to give him a little note. Damnit. This will have to do.

He passes it back to him, purposefully cups his hands in his to warm them up a little. It won't hurt. "There. It should be under 'Kar' since that's what you tend to call me."

"D'you not like that Kar - uh, Karkat?"

"No, I like it."

"Y'sure? I mean y'brought it up like it wwasn't your favvorite -"

"No, I was only telling you so it was easier for you to find me, don't worry, Eridan. If I hated it I would have told you already."

"Okay Kar, just checkin' is all."

"I know. Thank you for checking, no one else seems to do that."

Karkat's mind runs as he eats. He wonders what he'll send him first. Maybe a meme? Or like, ten of them. You can never go wrong with memes, unless, Eridan isn't the type of person who's into internet culture? No, he's always kept himself up enough to get the basics. He could send him a video of some stupid shit that's happening around him, or of him failing to do yet another task. He, should probably wait until he goes to text him. He'll figure it out later.

He thinks Eridan's hair is cute like this, he really does, and with the way his sweater is pushed down, it makes him look like he's been - nevermind, he won't think about it. He'd take it to keep as his contact photo, if only he could _see his fucking face._ Look at him. Look at him, Eridan, or he's gonna fucking go insane.

"By th'way you're not allowed ovver here again unless you're travvelin' by car or else I'll wwhoop your ass Kar d'y'hear me?"

Oh, right. He's still worried about him, isn't he? "Got it. Sorry Eridan." Damn right he's got it, he's stupid but he's not stupid enough to pull the same stupid shit over and over again.

"It's fine. Felt like I'vve said this before but I had t'say it again anywway just t'make sure y'knoww?"

"Yeah, I know."

They finish up and wash dishes together, put food away, drifting closer even when they have to break away to move around and tidy things up. They bump hips when they pass by. They lean against each other when they put things in the fridge. Somehow, they fail to interrupt the workflow, moving as a collective to get everything done. When the kitchen is finished, Eridan grabs Karkat's clothes, all neatly folded, and they're off to get dressed. He would have been okay with leaving them over. He could have come home in his pajamas, it would have given him an excuse to come back and do this again. He changes, then attempts to fold them like Eridan had folded his clothes. They, end up pretty lumpy, actually. He usually shoves his clothes in the drawer after they're done drying, because his lusus was a literal crab and can you imagine claws on fabric? He never learned to fold himself, but crumpled clothing is better than no clothing.

Eridan is so put together. Hair gelled back like it normally is, clean and neat button up, slacks, too. He's tying his tie as Karkat approaches and that's when he gets a good look.

Shit, his eyes. They're, more vibrant than he thought they'd be.

"You ready Kar?"

He can barely fucking breathe. He grasps at straws, stumbling over his thoughts for a response when it's right in front of him, goddamnit, he's done this shit so many times before why is it hard? "Yeah, let's go - wait do I have my clothes?"

"They're on you, Kar."

"Right, right. Let me, make sure..."

Eridan rolls his eyes as Karkat pats at himself like the fucking idiot he is, grabs him a coat from the rack and drapes it over his shoulders. Karkat doesn't notice, only pulls it on.

"Okay, ready."

They get in the car and Eridan hands him a to-go cup. Of, what - coffee. Coffee, of course. He takes a moment to sit and breathe it in, letting the heat color his cheeks. Long enough for Eridan to reach over and put his seatbelt on for him, which makes him feel like a total wriggler, and to make things worse, he's almost pinned under him for a moment as he does it. Stupid, bloodpusher, doing things he doesn't want it to do. Stupid face turning all red like a fucking tomato. He hates tomatoes.

Eridan sips at his cup for another second or two and then he turns the car on, drives out of the mountains and onto the city road. Karkat, won't be able to stay awake the whole drive, but does he have to? It's hours of sleep he could be having. He snuggles into his seat and it's only then that he realizes he smells exactly how he wants to smell, feels the heater on his legs calm his inflamed tissues. With Eridan driving, he feels comfortable enough to close his eyes, even as the sun shines into them.

* * *

"So you talk to Dirk now? How's he been doing? I haven't heard anything about him from Dave lately."

He's been awake for the past seventeen minutes, coffee now cold, though he can still drink it. He doesn't know how long he was asleep, Eridan won't tell him. It wasn't too long, he says. The next town is only eight minutes away, he says. Which town? He can't remember which one, he doesn't drive through this area of Washington often, he says. Lies. Lies upon lies, because he catches the next town on a road sign. Fucking Rockdale? Really? He's been out of it for almost half their drive. After they hit Rockdale it's another two hours of driving and then that's it. He's been catching up with him the best he can, giving him some chatter so he'll stay awake and so he can get to know him a little better, of course. Eridan does most of the talking, when he gets going, which is fine with Karkat.

"Oh, that's because he's been figurin' out howw t'livve by himself again. He left their shared apartment 'cause Davve's music wwould get in th'wway a'his vvideos an' Dirk's vvideos meant Davve couldn't record his music or be out in a room at th'same time 'cause he didn't wwanna be in 'em. It wwas kinda hard for the both a'them t'keep evverythin' in their tiny little rooms ovver in their Austin apartment. They had a good relationship, don't get me wwrong! They'vve been so much better wwith each other than they'vve evver been alone. It's been hard on Dirk. He doesn't like livvin' alone."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. But he's doin' a real great job I think! He movved a little further awway from Davve but I think he's a feww states closer t'us noww?. He's got himself a wwhole house, too. He's thinkin' a'makin' it into some wweird pad, wwhich isn't bad but I mean it's Dirk."

"Have you... heard anything about him and Jake? From either of them?" Karkat shivers, and Eridan pulls a blanket out from the back to drape over him, clicks his tongue as he thinks of what to say next. He scrunches his eyebrows in a unique way when he's thinking. It's cute.

"That's... not my business. But wwhen he talks about it on his owwn accord he, gets real sad. Doesn't talk for days. That's wwhat causes most a'th'gaps in our convversation, I think. He thinks about him a lot, I knoww he does, he's told me so an' that's not the only wway I knoww, either! He'll be talkin' excitedly about this project he's wworkin' on or wwhat he's plannin' t'do next in his life an' then he'll start t'get slowwer wwith his messages an' then he's talkin' about Jake an' wwonderin' howw he's doin' cause, they wwere real close y'knoww? An' all'a'th'sudden they wweren't close anymore. Like, they havven't talked in forevver Kar. An' he misses that. Evven if he couldn't be his, he could at least be his best friend. They might not evven be friends anymore. I don't knoww wwhat happened t'them. He hasn't told me. Maybe they just movved apart or somethin'."

Eridan bites at his lips, grazes his sharp teeth over them. His, full, plump lips, that glisten slightly in the light. He's going to bruise them, or cut them open, or, something, they look too soft to handle the edge, look like they'll give to him and his teeth will sink right in. The way his tongue flicks behind them has Karkat's full attention. He promises he's listening. He promises he's only looking because he's curious.

"All he wwants is t'knoww howw he's doin'. If he's happy. He wwants t'sit dowwn an' get some closure wwith him an' at least say a last goodbye before they movve on wwith their livves."

The way, his tongue flicks between his teeth with every loll, every 'L' sound. Dangerously flirting with being scraped into, almost a licking motion that has Karkat shivering again. Eridan piles another blanket onto him.

"An' I hope he gets that. I hope they both get that, 'specially since I knoww that Jake must miss him too, regardless a'wwhat happened."

He's right. He doesn't know much about Jake compared to the other kids, but he does know that he misses Dirk. He's heard him on the phone with Jade before, picked up that small bit of crucial conversation he wasn't supposed to know about. He's pretended like he regrets nothing. He's given his all to losing himself in the adrenaline rush, the speed of the chase, the crunch of his feet as they propel him forward. They all know better. Them being apart from each other has taken its toll, and now no one sees either of them because they can't bring themselves to talk to anyone if they can't talk to each other. But, hold on, now. He's forgetting something.

"Don't you talk to all of the alpha kids though?"

"Yeah, but I talk t'Jake th'least. Sometimes Dirk wwill ask howw he's doin' an' I rarely havve a reply for him. I don't go into specifics on account'a doin' my best t'respect Jake's privvacy, if he's goin' outta his wway t'avvoid Dirk, but I tell him that I'vve at least heard from him. Sometimes it's all he needs to hear. Just that he's okay. That he's still kickin'."

"You haven't heard anything about them from Jake?"

"No." Keeping up with his isolated freedom in all respects, isn't he? "He doesn't contact me for long. He's alwways off advventurin' somewwhere an' doin' wwhat makes him happy, t'a certain extent, at least. He's asked about Dirk once or twwice though. It's nevver if he misses him, or about wwhat or howw he's doin', it's alwways about wwhether or not he still talks t'anyone."

"What does that mean?"

"I dunno, an' it's really not my business t'speculate, but I think that maybe he wwishes he could talk t'him too. I think there's some boundary in his owwn head that he's gotta get ovver before he can take th'leap t'do that, an' I think Dirk's got a little growwin' t'do before they can really havve the talk they're both lookin' for. Dirk's almost there, though. I'm placing my bet on Jake that it'll take him another year, if not longer. I'm hopin' on less than a year."

He shouldn't worry about it, none of them should be sticking their noses in it. He can't help himself. Seeing how love breaks two people so easily has him craving every detail, craving some resolution to their suffering. Neither of them have moved on, truly. They can't. There's something about the two of them that belongs together, and anyone else who thinks they might have a handle on either of them is in for a fucking nightmare, because they aren't people who take kindly to someone pulling in the reigns. They're perfect complements, the only two elements that can reach towards each other from so far away. He doesn't doubt that, that _thing,_ whatever it is, still appears out of nowhere when Jake is thinking about Dirk. He's only seen it once but _fuck,_ dude.

It all has him thinking. Not like he wasn't thinking before, of course, but thinking about something else.

"Hey."

"Yeah Kar?"

"Are, you happier now? With the way things are, I mean."

Some part of him shuts off, just like last night on the couch, when he was turned away from him, for a moment, and then a moment longer. He manages to pull himself away. Good, good. He's sorry he caused that but, he. He wants to know. He should be happy. He deserves to be happy.

"I..."

Another long pause. He's fixed on the road, hands gripping at the steering wheel hard enough for his knuckles to pop. The sound is like he's shattering his hands. It's fucking terrifying, but it's not a grip of anger. He can tell.

"I dunno, Kar, I don't like t'think about it."

"I, I can drop it but can I ask later? When you've had time to think about it?"

"I think that'd be okay, yeah. Maybe savve it for a wwhile out."

"Yeah."

The tension melts away and Eridan places a hand over the lid of his cup. Karkat places his own cup down, but moves his hand over Eridan's, moving the pads of his fingers over his knuckles and the soft skin on the back. His skin isn't as thin as he thought it was. It's pleasantly quiet between them for, who knows how long, as the sun hides behind the clouds and blinds the sky with white light. Everything is white, and cold, except for the road, and everything about the car. It turns darker as delicate snow begins to fall, coat everything with a thin, fresh layer. Eridan keeps his thoughts at bay, until Karkat shifts uncomfortably when he sees another road sign.

"You talk to Cronus too, huh?"

"'Course I do. Wwe kinda only had each other t'talk to for a long wwhile. He's changed a lot, he's learned t'quit hittin' on evverybody he knowws but it's a little too late because no one evver really talks to him either. He's also the primary reason I keep my cell servvice on on long trips 'cause he's my emergency contact. He's kinda like a human older brother, only wwe don't see each other in person as often as wwe'd like to. He does livve in Spokane county an' wwe get together at least once a month if wwe can manage it. I get t'see Kri too, but he's still wwarmin' up t'me."

"Wait wait wait, Kankri? What the fuck do you mean, Kankri?"

"Wwhaddya mean, 'wwhat the fuck do you mean Kankri?' Did, you not knoww?"

"Know what?!"

"Wwell it's not my business t'tell you then but Kar, if you're that outta loop, y'should consider talkin' t'him sometime, I'm sure he'd like a better relationship wwith you anywway."

"What the hell do you mean out of loop? People tell me everything even if I don't want to know!"

"Not Kri or Cro, apparently. They manage t'keep things t'themselvves pretty wwell as long as they knoww wwhether or not they wwanna keep things to themselvves. They're also not spoutin' evveryone else's gossip evverywwhere like some sorta fuckin' garbage juice sprinkler. I mean I guess I shouldn't be sayin' anythin' at all but Cro is the only real friend I'vve got 'sides you an' you barely havve th'time t'talk t'me. Dirk is gettin' closer though, I just havven't hung out wwith him yet."

God, he hasn't even been talking to Dirk that long. What kind of bullshit friend does Karkat have to be for his ANCESTOR to talk to him more often than he does? Jesus fucking - "You said Kankri told you happy birthday huh? I mean he tells everyone happy birthday but does that mean you talk to him?"

"Wow Kar you sure do ask about people a lot." It's, a habit. "I do. He's not too fond a'me yet but he doesn't hate me an' he's tryin' t'put forth the effort in havvin' a closer relationship wwith me considerin' things. He's wwary of me due to things he's heard from Fef or Sol or Kan, though. Or anyone really. He's really swweet, an' though he doesn't like me much he cares about me. More than I can say for a lotta others, an' it's not like they'vve got it wwrong in their heads."

No, nono, they _are_ wrong, they have been for a long while, if they weren't wrong before.

"Hey."

"Yeah?"

"I care about you."

Eridan gives half of a chuckle and half of a cough, moving his hand to pat Karkat's shoulder. "I knoww. You, kinda told me that already, an' I don't think anyone wwho didn't givve a shit wwould pull that crazy movve you decided t'pull yesterday."

"Are you sure you know?"

"Wwell y'either care about me or y'just wwanna look good in front'a evveryone else an' wwanna look like 'the better person' or play your role as a mediator an' wwhile you'vve definitely done the twwo latter things before you'vve alwways been upfront and honest wwith me about howw you're feelin' as long as y'can manage t'say it. But..."

The cut-off lingers sourly in Karkat's ears. There's nothing good about that 'but' and he can feel it, he can taste it. What does he mean? What does he mean, 'but'? He has doubts, or he's hiding something he's been thinking about for a while, or he's thinking of a good way to break some god-awful news to Karkat. Karkat's chewing on his nails.

"Nevvermind. It's not important right now."

A sigh of relief, and Karkat readjusts Eridan's hand so his palm is resting against his, squeezes it tighter. 

"I'm kinda hungry."

"Really? Wwe’re about twwenty minutes awway from your place, Kar."

That is _not what he wants to hear that is very unpleasant he does not like that hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm._

Eridan sighs. "Wwell, I can get y'somethin' t'eat before I drop you off then? Wwhere wwould you wwanna go? Do you prefer drivve through or goin' in?"

A smile from Karkat, he pulls Eridan's arm into his. "Drive through. And Mcdonald's?"

"Kar as popular as Mcdonald's is I think you're makin' a huge mistake seein' as evverythin' there is absolute garbage."

"Goddamnit Eridan I'm craving some fucking chicken nuggets take me to Mcdonald's!"

"Kar howw about, like, a coffee shop instead dear lord I can barely stand the fuckin' rank ass stench of that godawwful trash hole."

Karkat chants, giggling a little bit as he does because frankly they're both being silly. "Mcdonald's! Mcdonald's!"

Eridan laughs too. Hell yes. Hell, fucking yes. "Fine! I guess I can't say no if it's wwhat you really wwant but don't be breathin' that fuckin' garbage in my face."

"Hell yes Mcdonald's"

He drives into the nearest one, clearly not happy with having to even be there but he's doing it for Karkat so he's okay with it, he can tell. The dude at the window looks hella confused as to why there's a weird ass troll in the front seat until he sees past Eridan and looks at Karkat. Karkat knows this cashier. This cashier knows Karkat. Karkat is a regular here, he's here at least three days a week, if not four. One time he went to Mcdonald's for every meal, for eight days, straight, and every single day that week, every time of day, this cashier was there to take his order. This cashier knows what Karkat looks like at one AM. This cashier can see into his soul.

Eridan turns to ask _the_ question just as the cashier gives Karkat a 'who the hell is this guy?' stare. "Alright Kar wwhaddya wwant?"

"Gimme gimme chickie nuggie."

His face flushes violet, half out of embarrassment and half out of his struggle to keep himself from laughing at Karkat's goblin likeness. "K, Kar ohmygod wwhat size an' do y'wwant anythin' else?"

"I want a 20 piece chicken nugget and a large iced tea."

"Cool gimme a moment to relay."

Only he doesn't have to relay. The cashier gives them a thumbs up and goes to grab him his order before Eridan can say anything. He knows what he wants. He has it prepped and ready for this moment. Eridan is like 'where did he go?' but then the cashier gets back and Eridan is like 'oh I see'. He pays, and then he's handed the goods.

"Here you are sir, have a good day."

"You too."

Eridan hands Karkat his food and then drives out of there. The cashier smirks. He has won, today, and Karkat only knows why when he goes to take a sip of his drink.

"ACK! THEY GAVE ME SPRITE!!! GOD THAT FUCKING B U R N S LIKE HELL JESUS LORD I FUCKING HATE SPRITE"

The tissues burn in all the worst ways. His throat sears at the carbonated bubbles combined with the sugar and the, the _lemon lime._ The lemon. Lime. The worst, flavor, to combine a carbonated soft drink with, because the citrus will end you. And the cashier knows this. He's gotten his order wrong before.

"Oh no Kar I'm so sorry d'you need me t'turn th'car around an' get y -"

"No I'll, deal with it." He did this to make him look like a pansy. Well you know what? He won't have it. He's going to sit here and take his Sprite like a fucking champ and there's nothing the cashier can do about it because he's not going to get the satisfaction of seeing him back at that Mcdonald's today. Obama would be proud of his bravery, if he wasn't so incredibly prideful about it already.

"Kar are you sure 'cause if you wwant me t'just drivve in there an' order you another iced - is it because it wwould be awwkwward"

"Yeah"

"Okay that's a mood let's go."

Maybe he should have gone back, though, because that would have meant more time with Eridan. The last few minutes of driving through the neighborhood squeeze at his heart, remind him of all of the shit he's about to return to. It's probably worse now that he's been gone. He doesn't have to worry about it in the car. Not while he's eating his food, at least, but the anxiety makes him finish it quickly, so he can't sit in the car to eat once they get home. Fuck. Fuck. He should talk to his friends about things so he can rid himself of everything but whenever he tries to they come at him with more shit and then they leave before he can say anything! He'll do it one day.

They pull up in his driveway. It's final, then. He can't stay there, and he won't see Eridan for at least another day, if not longer, won't be able to talk to him until he makes it home. The turning of his keys snaps at little parts of him. He can't bring himself to unbuckle his seatbelt until Eridan is already halfway there. He's not letting him do it for him.

"Here y'are Kar. Y'better take care a'yourself or I'll havve'ta drivve dowwn here an' take care a'you myself."

"You should make good on that sometime."

"Ww, Wwell maybe I wwill."

Please. "Good."

"Good. I'll, stay here an' wwatch y'till y'get in th'house so I knoww you'vve made it in safe. The neighborhood may be good but there's no wway I'm not makin' sure."

"Alright. Uh. Bye, Eridan."

"See ya Kar."

His heart wrenches as he pulls his hand away from his, closes the door behind him. Every step towards his door is heavy. He can't help looking behind him, though he knows he shouldn't. He waves. He goes in. And he makes good on his word, because he doesn't see him leave the driveway until he's looking out the window. He goes, and goes, and then disappears behind the bend.

He should have asked him to stay.

His grumpy demeanor returns to him as he trashes his garbage in his overflowing trash can. There's blankets strewn across his floor. His fridge has no gatorade, his pantry has no coffee, and the only food he has is chips and a few boxes of crackers. Dirty laundry, on his couch, because he couldn't be bothered to change in his room. He has to get started on some housework, asap, but not before he...

Checks...

His, Trollian, why did he open his Trollian dear god, he's flooded with notifications, and when he looks back at them, there's over _FIVE HUNDRED OF THEM._ He was gone for a day. A d a y . Can no one take care of their own shit for a fucking day? Would it have been the same if he went on vacation? He only checks on the most recent ones, because fuck everything else.

arsenicCatnip [AC] began pestering  carcinoGeneticist [CG]

AC: :33 < *AC curls up on her pile of very fluffy furs and waits for Karkitty to return...*

AC: :33 < *AC wonders if Karkitty is pawsibly free sometime later this week?*

AC: :33 < *AC decides to ask Karkitty if he would like to have fun with AC and her beautiful matesprit if he is free!*

AC: :33 < *AC falls asleep while waiting but will awaken if poked or pestered!*

arsenicCatnip [AC] ceased pestering  carcinoGeneticist [CG]

That's all Nepeta has sent him, and he's grateful for that. He'll send her something as soon as he has a schedule filled out. Onto the next person.

twinArmageddons [TA] began pestering  carcinoGeneticist [CG]

TA: KK where the fuck diid you go and why won't clownface tell me anythiing goddamniit you dii2appeared 2o fa2t

TA: whatever. a2 long a2 you're not dead or 2ome 2hiit liike that iit'2 fiine. ju2t talk two me about iit later iif you feel liike iit

TA: whiich remiind2 me ii need 2ome help wiith FF when you have the tiime? ii know ii 2houldn't alway2 be comiing two you for thii2 kiind of thiing but

TA: well ii gue22 you'll fiind out when you talk two me. iif you can

TA: iit'2 nothiing bad of cour2e ii ju2t need your opiiniion on 2omethiing

TA: thank2 KK ii hope you're doiing okay

twinArmageddons [TA] ceased pestering  carcinoGeneticist [CG]

There's other messages that don't fucking matter right now, though if Sollux was texting him non-stop he could have had something else he wanted to talk about. He'll check in with him later, and make sure they have at least an hour or two to talk about whatever it is he needs to. Next.

grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began pestering  carcinoGeneticist [CG]

GA: As I Have Been Informed That You Are Away Tonight I Do Not Expect You To Answer Immediately Or Anytime In The Near Future Should You Choose To Take An Extended Absence

GA: Though There Is Something That Has Been Nipping At My Mind Lately That I Wish To Discuss With You

GA: It Concerns My Position Within Feferi's Quadrants

GA: I Do Not Wish To Bother You With My Matters Of Course As I Firmly Believe That All Things Concerning Relationships Should Stay Within Relationships And That If Something Must Be Done The Only Way To Achieve Doing It Is Through Communication

GA: It Is Simply That Feferi Does Not Wish To Communicate With Me At The Moment

GA: And I Need Your Advice As To What The Next Course Of Action Should Be

GA: I Am Not Very Good At Coming Off As Approachable And Do Not Know How Long I Should Wait Before I Talk To Her About This

GA: I Do Hope You Are Doing Well In Your Own Quadrants And That You Are Safe And Out Of Harm's Way

GA: I Will See You Later Karkat

grimAuxiliatrix [GA] ceased pestering  carcinoGeneticist [CG]

Great. Feferi's garbage attitude again. He's not looking forward to this, but Kanaya needs his help if she's stepping around eggshells with Karkat. He'll give her extra time, but she'll probably only use ten or twenty minutes of his day, knowing her.

He decides to give himself a break to get things done before he checks the next one. Throws some dirty laundry in the wash, vacuums his floor and his couch, takes the trashes out. There's so many gatorade bottles all around his house, it's actually concerning. Then he builds some of his grocery list, before remembering he actually has to check the next one sometime.

gallowsCalibrator [GC] began pestering  carcinoGeneticist [CG]

GC: K4RKL3S WH3R3 1N TH3 FUCK D1D YOU RUN OFF TO

GC: W3 H4D 1MPORT4NT 3RR4NDS TO RUN TOD4Y

GC: 1T 1S ENT1R3LY POSS1BL3 TH4T YOU'R3 4SL33P BUT G4MZ33 G4V3 M3 TH3 1MPR3SS1ON TH4T YOU H4D GL34N3D 4 R1D3 FROM ON3 OF OUR OTH3R FR13NDS TO GO SOM3WH3R3 H3 H4S D3C1D3D NOT TO D1SCLOS3 TO M3 FOR R34SONS UNKNOWN

GC: 4ND 1 H4V3 B33N TRY1NG TO 3XTR4CT TH3 1NFORM4T1ON FROM H1M

GC: SO H4RD >:(

GC: H3 1S L1K3 4N 1NP3N1TR4BL3 W4LL OF BR41N SUCKL1NG STUP1D1TY AND UNDY1NG LOY4LTY 4ND 4LSO H3 H4T3S M3 4 L1TTL3 B1T

GC: BUT NOT 3NOUGH TO F41L TO 3NSUR3 TH4T 1 KNOW OF YOUR WH3R34BOUTS ON D4YS W3 H4D PL4NS TO G3T 1MPORT4NT BUS1N3SS DON3 ON!

GC: SO 1 DO NOT TH1NK 1 L1K3 WH4T3V3R 1T 1S H3 1S H1D1NG FROM M3

GC: UNL3SS OF COURS3 1T TURNS OUT YOU 4R3 BOTH PL4Y1NG SOM3 SORT OF 3LABOR4T3 PR4NK ON M3

GC: 1F TH4T 1S TH3 C4S3 1 4M H4PPY TO B3 PR4NK3D 4ND YOU'LL H4V3 SOM3TH1NG W41T1NG FOR YOU WH3N YOU R3TURN >:)

GC: PR3P4R3 YOUR 4SS K4RKL3S 1 W1LL B3 CONSULT1NG 4 M4ST3R OF TH3 CR4FT 1N ORD3R TO ON3-UP YOU

GC: 1 W1LL W1N TH1S B4TTL3 >:) YOU W1LL NOT 3M3RG3 V1CTOR1OUS >:) 4ND 3V3N 1F YOU H4PP3N TO DO SO 1 4M TH3 L4W 4ND YOU W1LL B3 SHOWN NO M3RCY

GC: >:) SL33P W1TH ON3 3Y3 OP3N K4RKL3S

gallowsCalibrator [GC] ceased pestering  carcinoGeneticist [CG]

Oh yeah, he forgot about that... He should probably go and take care of that right now, he'll be able to get his grocery shopping done too -

...

His thumb runs over an unfamiliar texture. He was, about to pull his sweater off and change into something different, though he didn't have to. He pats at it. Weather-repellent fabric, puffy, layered... there's a zipper. How, how? What? What is this?

He unzips it, pulls it off his shoulders and holds it, in front of -

Oh, mygod it's his jacket. How the fuck did he get this? Did he snatch it from a rack absentmindedly? Wouldn't he have noticed earlier? Wouldn't Eridan have said something about it, too, if he'd done that? Hhho it smells so good. He, might take this with him, then, as long as he still has it... I mean, there's not much he can do about it now, right?

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering  caligulasAquarium [CA]

CG: HEY ERIDAN I KNOW YOU DROPPED ME OFF AN HOUR AGO AND BY THE TIME YOU LOOK AT THIS YOU'LL BE BACK HOME ANYWAY

CG: BUT I FORGOT TO GIVE YOU YOUR COAT BACK

CG: I GUESS IT'S A LITTLE HARD TO REMEMBER YOU'RE WEARING SOMETHING? I DON'T KNOW. I DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW HOW I GOT IT IN THE FIRST PLACE EITHER I JUST KIND OF WENT TO TAKE MY SWEATER OFF AND THERE IT WAS?

CG: SO UM

CG: NEXT TIME WE HANG OUT I'LL HAVE IT FOR YOU OKAY?

CG: DRIVE SAFE

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased pestering  caligulasAquarium [CA]

Shit, he should have texted him. Next time, or he, here. He'll text him. It only takes a minute of his time, after all. There. Much better. He, should also call Gamzee - oh?

terminallyCapricious [TC] began pestering  carcinoGeneticist [CG]

TC: HeY mOtHeRfUcKeR yOu On YoUr WaY bAcK yEt?

CG: GOT HOME A WHILE AGO AND MEANT TO TEXT YOU AS SOON AS I WAS IN THE DOOR BUT I'M LOOKING THROUGH EVERYONE'S PESTERLOGS THEY LEFT ME

CG: GOD THERE'S SO MANY

CG: EVERYONE LIKES TO RIDE UP MY ASS ALL THE TIME

CG: I'M WALKING AROUND WITH BRUISES UP MY FUCKING INSIDES FROM ALL OF THE CONSTANT ASS FUCKING THEY DO GAMZEE

TC: I kNoW wHaT yOu MeAn My MoThErFuCkEr. YoU'rE gOnE fOr TwO fUcKiN hOuRs AnD eVeRyOnE iS aSkIn WhErE iN tHe MoThErFuCk YoU'vE gOnE

TC: LiKe DaMn. ChIlL. i WaItEd UnTiL tHe FoUr HoUr MaRk To BoThEr YoU

TC: I wAs HeLlA fUcKiN wOrRiEd ThOuGh

TC: TaVrOs MaNaGeD tO kEeP mE cAlM fOr A wHiLe

TC: He'S sO sWeEt. I'm So DaMn LuCkY tO hAvE hIm

CG: YEAH HE'S A PRETTY COOL DUDE. TELL HIM I APPRECIATE IT

CG: I'M SORRY I WORRIED YOU LIKE THAT GAMZEE

CG: I JUST KINDA SAW HIS TROLLIAN AND I FUCKING PANICKED LIKE THE WRIGGLER STEWING IN MY OWN PISS AND OTHER BODILY FLUIDS THAT I AM

CG: AND I HAD TO DO SOMETHING BEFORE MY FUCKING THINKPAN EXPLODED WITH ALL OF MY BRAIN JUICES. THOSE BRAIN JUICES WOULD HAVE BEEN EVERYWHERE. WOULD HAVE STAINED THE WALLS AND THE FLOORS AND SEEPED INTO EVERY LITTLE NASTY CRACK OF MY HUMAN HOUSE

CG: CAN YOU EVEN IMAGINE THE CLEANUP GAMZEE

CG: SOME POOR ASSHAT HAVING TO SCRAPE MY FUCKING GRAY MATTER OFF THE WALL GAMZEE

TC: It WoUlD sMeLl MoThErFuCkIn AwFuL bRo

TC: I wOuLd CrY

TC: I gEt WhY yOu MoThErFuCkIn DiD iT bUt YoU cOuLd HaVe WaItEd UnTiL i WaS mOtHeRfUcKiN fReE bRo Or YoU cOuLd HaVe TaKeN tHe MoThErFuCkIn TiMe To CaLl SoMeOnE eLsE

TC: ThEy WoUlD hAvE bEeN tHeRe In TeN mInUtEs BrO

TC: PlEaSe KaRbRo UsE yOuR mOtHeRfUcKiN bRaIn

CG: DON'T WORRY I WILL NEXT TIME OKAY?

CG: HE WON'T EVEN LET ME COME OVER THERE AGAIN UNLESS SOMEONE IS DRIVING ME OR I HAVE MY OWN CAR

CG: AND I DON'T WANNA GET MY ASS CHEWED INTO LIKE I DID

CG: IT WAS FUCKING HEART-WRENCHING GAMZEE

CG: GOD I'M SO FUCKING STUPID

TC: It'S aLl CoOl NoW bRo

TC: I mEaN tHiNgS aRe AlL gOoD nOw RiGhT?

CG: YEAH

CG: I MEAN I THINK SO. MAYBE?

CG: WE TALKED ABOUT IT FOR A BIT BUT MAYBE WE DIDN'T TALK FOR LONG ENOUGH

CG: I'LL HAVE A CHANCE TO TALK TO HIM LATER AND I GUESS I'LL BRING IT UP THEN BECAUSE I DON'T REALLY WANT TO LEAVE HIM WITH TOO MUCH TO LOOK AT WHEN HE GETS HOME

CG: THAT'D BE EMBARRASSING. I'D SEEM SO DESPERATE LIKE HOLY FUCK

TC: WhY tHe HeLl ArE yOu MoThErFuCkIn WoRrIeD aBoUt LoOkIn DeSpErAtE nOw AfTeR aLl Of ThAt?

CG: I

CG: DON'T KNOW

TC: Do YoU hAvE fEeLiNgS tO wOrK tHrOuGh KaRbRo?

CG: MAYBE?

CG: I THINK I'LL WAIT ON A FEELINGS JAM FOR A WHILE SO I CAN SORT MY THOUGHTS OUT ON MY OWN BUT IF IT GETS TO THE POINT WHERE I NEED SOME HELP WITH THEM I'LL TELL YOU OKAY? I CAN'T RESIST A GOOD FEELINGS JAM BUT I NEED TO LET MY MIND SIT FOR A BIT ON THIS

TC: AlRiGhT bRo

TC: TeLl Me WhEn YoUr ScHeDuLe Is FrEe CaUsE i WaNt To HaNg ThE fUcK oUt BrO

CG: I'LL DO THAT. I GUESS I KIND OF HAVE TO BUILD A SCHEDULE NOW BECAUSE I THOUGHT I HAD TIME OFF BUT I CAN NEVER FUCKING GET A BREAK CAN I

TC: YeAh MoThErFuCkEr I gEt ThAt FeEl

CG: THANKS FOR UNDERSTANDING GAMZEE. TALK TO YOU LATER OKAY?

TC: HeLl YeAh

TC: <>

CG: <>

terminallyCapricious [TC] ceased pestering  carcinoGeneticist [CG]

Yeah. Feelings to work through, huh? He'll do that later tonight.

Karkat puts, Eridan's, jacket on, heaves in his scent to get him through the day, and decides to text Terezi for a ride.


	8. Midnight Tea

It all comes to a halt.

His fingers cease to glide along the keys of his laptop, fail to paint the picture of his heart. They had been flowing so wonderfully-the feelings he had been feeling, the ones that burned themselves into the fibrous strands of his muscles, those that had been dragging his weight till it collapsed in this very chair, those that paralyze him. They were fluid, languid, even, lifting easily off his ever-tightening shoulders. Enough to be spilling out in tears. Enough for him to be here now, hurrying to fill the cup with them before they filled his chest. If it were to overflow, that would be fine, as long as he kept something in. Anything at all, enough for him to drink from later, when they left him void of even the slightest of tingling in his fingertips. They wanted to be worked with. He made the effort, he let them speak for themselves, sitting and feeling and observing along with them.

And then, they did it. They froze up between his joints, pooled and dripped over his insides to coat them, only to trap them in solid ice when the wind blew through him. Now, his hands are stiff. Any movement at all, and they threaten to snap off, or crackle and spill out over his keyboard, like useless glowsticks. There's no end. There's no end to them, is there? He's stuck with them for as long as his miserable, pseudo-immortal life crawls on, and they'll keep dishing out empty threats to end it for him. How can he do anything when they love to cripple and destroy all that he has left to work with?

Whatever. They can pull at his skin until the bags of his eyes grow heavy and dark, but they won't claim him. They can dig their talons into his ankles and pierce holes in his fragile body, and he'll do the same to their pathetic, disgusting gums, and wrench their jaws from their skulls, and crush them under his frail hands with the unadulterated force of his anger-filled spite. What have they ever done to deserve anything less than his rage, after all? He's given them enough time to settle down, to repent. They've dug their graves. They can lie down in them, and he'll take the harpoon gun hanging from his wall and spear them through the head, one by one, so that they stay there. Pinned. And then sealed, under the loam of those that have rotted there before them.

He sits there in his chair, body wracked with pain, until his feelings finally dissipate, and then he's left with nothing. Nothing, and he'll take it. It means he's done. If he wanted to continue, there's no way he could, anyway, so he pulls himself away from his desk and stretches. He figures it's time to go do a task that will prove more productive.

A quick shower to warm him up and a (non-alcoholic) mug of hot toddy later, he's out ripping the old boards from his shed to replace. It's not the greatest idea to do it while it's still winter, he knows, it would be a lot easier on him if he waited till spring, would probably hold better. It gives him something to do. He's needed to fix it for a while; all last summer it would creak and moan and shiver under the weight of summer rain, barely holding structure. Maybe he should tear it all down and build a new one. Could be better, though for that, he would have to wait until warmer weather arrived, and he uses the shed at least two times a week. Just a patch up. Keep it going a little longer, and then come spring he'll see what he wants to do with it.

The cold biting at his already frozen skin and the splintering wood underneath his fingers stirs something short of a distant memory from within him. So long ago, repairing his own hive with the remains of ships that washed along the shore of his home. Bigger pieces of metal that he'd have to to cut and shape with his limited knowledge of tools. Fighting against storms that would bash any incoming debris against the outside walls, waves that could rip him away at any time and shred him to pieces. He had to cling to the edges of whatever hole he was repairing in order not to find himself trapped underneath the water. He barely had any weight to hold him down. Tiny legs to stand on, thin and frail arms that struggled to lift in hurricane after hurricane. It's a wonder how he could have ever survived, honestly, but it's the only way he built enough strength to go after creatures as big as he did. Sometimes, they would make their way to him. He would win, always, never leaving a battle until it was finished, but getting out within an inch of his life on more than a few occasions.

Doing structural repairs isn't a problem anymore. No. He's even helped people do minor repairs on their own buildings, if he felt like doing them. It makes him feel proud, but the memories prove difficult to shake, and they tend to wander into other memories from his past that, are less pleasant.

He's not as strong as he used to be, which might be why he remembers his fragile form the most. He's not as fast, either. These few boards will take him up to thirty minutes to pry off, though they're slightly rotted, or bent out of shape. His joints crackle and pop, muscles strain. He's got the proper tools to help him, even, and still it's hard on him. Why? Why is it so hard? He's gone through much worse, walked through hell and back not all that long ago and healed over within days, spry as ever. Well... he might have been dead, for most of that. Only proof that he has more use to people dead than he does alive.

Only, he hates that thought. He likes being alive. He hates it, too, but he likes it. And death, now, seems like a hazy dream that becomes clearer with every passing moment, and he'd like to keep that dream from manifesting itself, thank you very much. But would he really rather be useless than dead? It, has him wondering if he can make any use of himself at all, like this. He's trying, he is. His therapist won't be happy to hear about that one, but talking to them is better than keeping the thought to himself.

He catches a glance at the frosted, graying ground beneath his feet. It's dormant now, right? Like him. But soon the earth will warm and the sun will beat down on its blades of grass and it will live again. And it'll do more than live, too, provide so much for other plants, other creatures. Dandelions and wildflowers, clovers and ladybugs, a vibrant and colorful floor of lush, breathing heartbeats, soul erupting from beneath the ground cover. It'll breathe it into his own garden, when it comes time to plant. Maybe he can be like that, if he tries. Maybe he can be radiant and giving and push others towards blooming forth as the best versions of themselves. Maybe, he thinks, before he remembers his hands are shaky and cold, and a single touch might wilt whatever life falls beneath, and how he'd already shattered everyone's hopes and dreams, once upon a time, and then he remembers, again, why he's all the way out here, and all of his friends are happier over there.

No more distraction, then. He downs the rest of his mug and rips the last board from his shed like a bandaid, quickly, recklessly. It works, and the wood sinks into his hands, tears at his soft flesh. The board is dyed with violet and discarded. He checks his palms-the damage isn't bad, he thinks, it'll be fine. He carelessly pulls out the fractures of wood, inspects for any smaller pieces, and then wraps them haphazardly in bandages so he can get back to work. He'll revisit them later. He has time.

A single bird chirps on as he works, screws and nails and lacquer the only other company to him and his tools. On, for an hour, two, then three, and before long, he has a clean looking shed that won't fall on top of him whenever he walks in. Should he repair the roof? He might as well, right? He has extra boards. And that takes him an extra hour, only because the roof is a single piece on its own. His back aches, hands throb, knees creak as he steps back and puffs air into his lungs, coughing rightfully. It's cold, he's cold, he's tired, everything stings and pulses and yet, it's nice. It's more pleasant than being numb, or feeling that way simply because your body is torturing you. This is the sting of vitality, of hard work. He can't give a smile, no, but he might if his muscles would allow it.

It's only one pm and he feels like he has nothing to do. He should be grateful; most people would give anything to have as much time as he does, and it's a luxury. But they have lives they can fill that time with. He has to scrape his brain until it bleeds to think of what the hell he's supposed to be doing with all the time he has. He works, sure. It's only for an hour a few times a week, hardly a cut in his empty void of a schedule. He _was_ busy, this week, and then he finished everything under the influence of his restlessness and his fear of giving his thoughts the time to haunt him. _What to do_ , he thinks, as he unwraps his bandages and reapplies better ones after cleaning his hands.

He'll check his phone for the hell of it, he thinks. He doubts he'll have anything-

Kar: HEY ERIDAN I SENT YOU A MESSAGE OVER TROLLIAN BUT I DON'T KNOW IF YOU'LL GET IT OR NOT SO

LIKE UH

I HAVE YOUR JACKET, FOR SOME REASON?

I DON'T KNOW WHY BECAUSE I DON'T EVEN REMEMBER PUTTING IT ON

UH, IF YOU WANT IT BACK YOU SHOULD COME PICK IT UP SOMETIME

I MIGHT USE IT UNTIL THEN SO IF YOU DON'T WANT ME TO I GUESS TOO FUCKING BAD BUT I'LL WASH IT SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT IT

GIVE ME A CALL OKAY?

That was, oh, Tuesday? Has it really only been two days since he dropped Karkat off? Jesus, it's felt like weeks! And he hasn't replied this whole time, either, after giving him all that shit for not letting anyone know he was coming over? It's, he hadn't been expecting him to text him at all. That's it, isn't it? That's why he hasn't checked...

Careless.

He hurriedly presses the call button, and within a few rings, he picks up.

He rushes to blurt some kind of excuse, "Kar, I'm sorry I didn't reply t'your text earlier, I wwas kinda-"

_"Oh! Hey! I'm, out with some friends right now but-"_

Friends. Friends, right. Of course. He's, "I caught y'at a bad time? I, I can call again later don't wworry about it Kar I'm real so-"

_"No no! No, this is fine, don't hang up, please."_

There's confusion, now. Didn't he, just say...? "Kar ain't it rude t'be talkin' on the phone right in front'a'your friends wwhen you're hangin' out? I mean if someone did that t'me an' it wwasn't important-"

_"This is an important call."_

Flutters.

His hands tremble slightly, heart pounding in time with every little butterfly born. Now he's struggling to think at all. "... Okay. Um, again I meant to reply t'your text soon as I got home Kar but I wwas real busy this wweek so I didn't get t'it. I hope it wwasn't an inconvvenience Kar."

_"That's alright. So what did you call me for?"_

A breath while he finds the right words to say. "Wwhile I'm in no rush t'get that jacket back, I wwould like t'see y'as soon as possible as long as you're free Kar. I wwas thinkin' wwe could go someplace t'gether, maybe for afternoon coffee an' a chat or dinner or somethin'?"

_"I think I'd like that."_

Like that. He'd, like that. Nothing else to pad that with, no vulgar remark, no barking it out, nothing. Shit, why? Why does his body betray him like this? He heaves a sigh, before he remembers himself. "Like wwhich one, Kar?"

_"Hmm. Coffee? And then we can go from there."_

"Sounds good. I can drivve ovver there-I mean I guess I gotta considerin' y'havven't got a car but I don't wwanna make anythin' hard for ya Kar."

_"Hehe. Kar. Car."_

He, sounds different. There's a certain heavy thickness to his voice, a cloud that makes him sound floaty, like he's dreaming and he's mumbling his thoughts in his sleep. "I uh, I guess it's kinda funny?"

_"It is. Driving eight hours just to spend two with me sounds like a fucking awful deal for the both of us so, if you, wanna spend the night?"_

Spend the night. Again, with Karkat. Because he asked.

More flutters, yet he has the conscience to think twice about it.

He'll make a fool of himself, do something stupid and then it'll all be ruined, won't it? He has a habit of it. If he doesn't make a fool of himself, he'll be overly careful, and it'll all amount to nothing but them sitting around and fiddling with their fingers and then he'll come home the next day and beat himself up for not doing more, and everything will go to shit in his stupid little bloodsucking parasite of a brain. Does he dare? Does he dare at all, or does he regret it anyway, by refusing to allow himself more time with Karkat?

He'll, give Karkat an opportunity to speak about his intentions. Whether it's a courtesy or not. "Iii, I don't wwanna put too much stress on y'Kar, you'vve already gone outta your wway t-"

_"No! No it wouldn't be stressful or hard or anything like that! I was the one who suggested it."_

A courtesy. Maybe? The words phrased it like that, but his tone says otherwise. He, "I guess as long as you're okay wwith it Kar. But don't think you'll get awway wwith drivvin' long distances t'my house in the future wwithout expectin' t'stay ovver, then. 'Specially since I knoww your sleep schedule and it's abhorrent Kar."

_"What? Are you really offended by my fucking sleep schedule?"_

"Wwho wwouldn't be? I'vve had you talk t'me about not sleepin' for days on end an' that's no wway t'livve Kar! An' then wwhen y'do go t'sleep y'sleep for hours an' hours an' no one can reach y'evven if they wwanted to. Bein' god-awful tired all the damn time 'cause a'rom-coms an' shitty American televvision cable shit that don't evven got much vvariety due t'discriminatory pieces a'breathin' scum you'd find on th'bottom a'a rotted wwooden boat is, I don't knoww howw y'do it Kar. They're gettin' better but god, Kar. That's wwhat y'stay up for?"

_"Better than staring at the ceiling for hours."_

Oh god, that's too real of a feeling.

Karkat doesn't deserve to struggle with that, does he? But, how can _he_ help that? It's not like he can be there himself, and giving advice will only make him feel like he's not doing enough as it is. This isn't confusion, this is helplessness. Maybe he, doesn't want his help. What can he do, what can he do...?

It wouldn't hurt to offer him something. He can refuse if he wants, right?

"Next time y'can't sleep an' y'need some help y'call me right up an' I'll do my best t'get y' knocked out cold so y'can wake up th'next mornin' all refreshed."

That came out more as a demand than anything else, but he'll take it. He waits for a reply with bated breath, worried for absolutely no reason at all.

_"You better hold to that, then."_

"Oh don't you wworry I damn wwell wwill hold t'it."

_"Good."_

Good. _Good._ He actually wants him to help. He can be useful, to his best friend. And, to think, on the drive home from Nevada on Monday, he was ready to cut it all off.

Sometimes, Eridan is so fucking stupid.

They, sit there, in silence. It's only half-awkward, as he hears Karkat talking to someone else on the other end. Eridan nudges the lid of his mug, trying not to get embarrassed, though his face burns anyway. His tone of voice, his relative calm, keeping him on the _phone when there's other people._

"Are y'sure I'm not holdin' anythin' up Kar?"

_"You're not, but if you feel too self-conscious about it we can talk later, when I'm home and have nothing to do?"_

Relief. "Yeah, I'd like that. Howw long d'y'think it'll be? Gaugin' howw much I can get done b'fore wwe talk again is all. If y'dont knoww that's okay too."

_"You'll hear from me later tonight?"_

"Okay. See y'later Kar, stay safe."

_"Talk to you soon <3"_

Eridan's heart shivers, he's tangled in some invisible cord and he can't bring himself to hang up, but it's okay, because he hears a beep on the other end that means Karkat took care of it for him. Soon. Later that night. He has something to look forward to for the rest of the day, one little blip in his schedule. It's enough to keep him going.

He makes sure he remembered to take his meds, and then he lets their call together tug his heart in whatever direction it wants to go.

* * *

Eridan bursts through his doorway, carrying bags full of all sorts of things. He'll probably kick himself later for spending some fuckin' Bank Ass Cash but who the hell cares? He has himself some more books to read (only adding to his fucking _reading list and book hoarding problems_ ,) a whole bunch of new hand tools, and food. Oh, is there food. Most of it, is for a later time, but he stashes the refrigerated goods in the fridge. He will eagerly get back to them later. He pulls a box of orchid food from one of the bags and gets to mixing it up for his countless...

Plants. So many fucking plants. All requiring different care, including his pitcher plants and butterworts, which he started caring for recently. Carnivorous plants have always piqued his interest slightly, and they keep bugs out of his house. Win-win, all he has to do is fertilize them (gently, just a teeny bit,) once a month and keep them soaking in water and they're good to go. They're just coming out of their dormant stage, which is why he's watering and feeding them today. There's a tiny jar of bloodworms in the fridge for when they wake up a little more and need bugs instead of the little fertilizer they have. The orchid food is, also for orchids. He sets up the grow lights and makes sure everything is well-taken care of, and as he's coming back to the kitchen, his phone buzzes.

It takes him a moment to register, because he hasn't had his phone buzz in a month and a half, but when he sees the first K his finger practically stabs the screen. He fumbles with his phone for a little bit, pressing it to his ear just as Karkat's voice comes through.

_"Hey Eridan, sorry about earlier, we went out to eat and then do other things I guess. How was your day?"_

This is surreal. He has to make sure his head is still on and his phone is _actually on call._ He called him _back?_ Asked him about his fucking day-that part isn't actually all that new, and still. Hearing it all in a calm and quiet voice almost gives him shivers.

He sounds tired though, too, which, makes him slightly hushed too, though he's excited. "I don't mind at all Kar, I hope it wwas decent considerin' food can be shit ovver in Seattle evven if there's some good places t'go. My day wwas okay, got some errands done includin' gettin' my garden shed all fixed up from the rain wwarpin' the wwood. Had t'rebuild most a'it ovver the wweek. Howw wwas your day Kar?"

_"It was alright but damn, I'm in a lot of pain."_

"I'm real sorry Kar, that fuckin' sucks shit. Did y'take anythin' for it? I mean sometimes things don't wwork so if you're strugglin' I can givve y'some recommendations 'cause fuck, I struggle wwith pain meds too."

_"... Wwwwwwweed?"_

Oh. That earlier call makes a lot of sense, now. And the eating? He never really got why people got hungry on weed, the one time he tried it he felt like he was gonna fucking die. Sat there crying because his body was burning in more ways than one and everything was too heavy for him to move. Felt his pulse all the way in his horns. He could only sit there and wait until it went away, just like everything else he has to wait for. But people have younger bodies than Eridan does, and maybe that's why.

"That's why your vvoice sounded wweird. It wwas real cute though so don't be self-conscious or anythin'." And it's not a lie. God, it was adorable, if he could go back and listen to it again he would.

Eridan reaches a hand into the fridge and pulls out what he's been waiting for since he started working on his shed. Oh boy oh boy oh boy it's gonna be fucking great. Everything is great right now. _"_ _Whatever <3 So um, I can make a spot for our coffee, is there any day in particular that you prefer? I mean I'm scheduled for a while out but I'd rather do it at a time where you aren't planning to do anything else."_

"Kar, my schedule is pretty flexible-"

There's silence. On both ends, as Eridan stares into his trash can.

_"... Eridan?"_

"I'm a fuckin' dumbass."

_"What the fuck dude no you're n-"_

"Nono, just wwait 'till you, okay I'm gonna," he's gonna fucking scream is what he's gonna do. He fucked up something as simple, as putting actual trash where it goes, and now? "Ohmygod, I opened my fuckin' yogurt t'eat it an' wwent t'throww awway th'lid. Guess wwhat I did not throww awway? Guess wwhat I threww awway instead? Guess wwho's holdin' a yogurt lid wwithout any yogurt on it t'showw for their dumbass efforts?"

_"That's fucking hilarious."_

He's mortified.

Karkat giggles sweetly, and Eridan can't help the heat that pools in his cheeks, singes the tips of his fins. "Damnit but it wwas th'only fuckin' key lime I bought an' this is a more expensivve brand! I threww awway my damn treat for wworkin' on my garden shed t'day I couldn't be more of a fool Kar I can't believve this I'vve been sabotaged by my own crummy brain."

_"Is it like, greek yogurt or something?"_

GREEK YOGURT? "No! Fuck greek yogurt that shit is fuckin' terrible for th'envvironment! It's goat milk yogurt an' I swwear Kar all these s'burban moms wwith their shitty health trends make prices hike like Elon Musk launchin' his fuckin' shitty Tesla car in't'space. I gotta buy some fuckin' goat milk yogurt because I'm a seadwwellin' troll wwith no natural wway t'process coww milk an' evvery time I havve normal yogurt or, god forbid, greek yogurt, I get a nasty sinus infection that lasts months."

He's offended that he even asked the question. Actually, he's not, he's trying to find reasons to throw his attention at something other than his easily avoidable and trivial mistake that literally no one cares about but Eridan. He grumbles, and as he tries to readjust his phone and throw the lid away, he's greeted with, yet another mistake. There's a _clink!_ from the trash can, and he cant help the frustrated noise that blows from his nose.

"Goddamnit that wwas my fuckin' spoon! Did'y'hear that Kar? That fuckin' clink? I just threww awway my spoon. You'd think I wwould learn somethin' but no, my stupid little insect brain refuses t'do more than run on muscle memory. I shoulda gone t'put awway th'spoon first an' noww I'vve gotta fish my spoon outta th'garbage like the bottom-feedin' heathenous chiton I am."

More giggling, that bursts into laughter. He makes it so hard to stay mad with a laugh that makes him _melt_ like this. _"Listen, I don't mean to undermine your rant or anything, because this sucks and I feel your pain, you're just, so fucking cute what the hell Eridan."_

"If y'think that's cute y'should probably redefine your definition a'cute Kar. If I heard someone else do wwhat I just did I'd feel sorry for the poor sucker 'cause wwhat kinda brain d'y'gotta havve t'do that Kar? Wwhat kinda garbage does someone havve't'be stuck wwith in order t'throww awway the damn yogurt they'vve been lookin' forwward t'all day?"

_"You can always go and buy another yogurt. No one's telling you you can't, you know, and you can totally afford it."_

He can, he should, and he has no real reason to keep him from going and getting one right now, but if he resigns himself to going and getting a yogurt, he can't keep talking to Karkat about it, and you see, that's a fucking crime that is. If he can't feel his laughter resonate in his own chest, can't hear the rare, soft inflection of his voice that he hasn't been able to since he was six sweeps old, there's no reason to not be talking about it. He can't believe it was yogurt. It was _yogurt._

That and he has to scrounge up a new topic if he moves on, so he comes up with a bullshit excuse that's not entirely bullshit, but that he's already broken today anyway.

"Yeah but I'm tryin' t'stop spendin' so much money on shit so I can fluff up my nest egg some."

_"What in the fuck are you talking about?"_

"Y'knoww, like the account y'havve on th'side in case a'emergencies. I'vve got two years wworth a'livvin' expenses in there already but I'm tryin' t'get t'three an' I don't wwork as much as I should so I'vve got a wwhile t'go before I reach that goal." Not like he needs to work, he's got an account that'll only pile and pile over the years, but he should contribute to society instead of being a rich bastard who rides his money over every trouble he'll ever have until he eventually dies.

Karkat pauses. _"You have that? You can afford that?"_

"Y'don't got that? I mean twwo years is bigger than th'avverage nest egg for sure but I can nevver be too prepared wwith my luck." That, too, is not entirely bullshit.

_"I didn't know people did that sort of thing, I just have 1,000 put aside for if I like, break my arm or something and if it goes over I'm screwed."_

What in. The holy hell.

"Shut the fuck up."

_"You shut the fuck up with your massive cash stack you ultimate prick how dare you"_

If Karkat had gotten injured on the way to his house and someone DID find him, if someone had sent him to the hospital? Oh god. The ambulance costs. The, the hospital bill. He'd be paying it off for...

Eridan feels the little kettle of patience he has for the current government and economic system whistle. It's boiling. "Kar not t'be rude or anythin' but I'm payin' for evvery medical transaction you'll evver havve and there's nothin' you can do t'stop me."

 _"You physically cannot do that,"_ false, he can if Karkat will let him, which he should, _"and why the hell would you want to? Medicine is expensive. It's like a hundred and twenty dollars just to visit my general practitioner now and an extra fourty for the cheapest pills I have."_

"Exactly. At least help me fix your insurance so you're not fuckin' cheated if somethin' evver happens t'y'Kar dear god only 1,000. Wwhat kinda scraps are they feedin'y'Kar? Don't y'wwork in therapy? I pay my damn therapist two hundred and fifty for evvery fourty minutes."

_"You fucking what now"_

"I knoww it ain't the cheapest rate out there but they're really good okay? And I knoww that doesn't come out their final pay, they don't earn that much."

_"Yeah, no kidding. I only make around 50k a year and that's some pretty good pay for one person but I mean, I don't have enough to be tossing my money around like some fucking pompous twat who already has their retirement in order-no offense Eridan, sorry."_

The kettle cracks.

All of that boiling water blisters at his insides. Fuck! The little time he spends talking to him, he's always talking about how everyone's dragging him into hanging out with them, all the places he has to go to, and now he knows why he's complaining! 50K isn't enough for jack SHIT out here! In fact, what's the average cost of living up here? Let's see...

He's typing it as he talks, has Karkat on speaker. "God, no wwonder y'can't savve up wwith howw often evveryone is takin' y'out, y'can barely covver th'necessities an' y'certainly can't covver school so howw the hell d'y'havve th'money t'go out in th'first place? Fuck! They're squeezin' y'dry Kar evveryone is!"

_"What do you know about how expensive it is to live over here?"_

He doesn't, until. Now.

"Comfortable cost'a'livvin' in'th'Seattle area is close t'sevventy two thousand a year Kar. May havve looked it up."

He's sure he's going to grind his teeth until he rips the roots from his gums and shreds them into fleshy little bits of pulp. Holy fucking hell. He'd go and slap some sense into every single one of his cowardly, bastardous 'friends' if they weren't actually subject to the same economic environment that Karkat was, and if they weren't also, somehow, Eridan's friends, too. In... his heart, at least. It's his boss. It's the fucking system, fucking him over, and not them. But it's also them. But it's more the system. He wants to eat his boss. He'll eat Karkat's boss, and he'll enjoy the taste of blood that flows between his teeth from the artery that pulses on his tongue, and then he'll become Karkat's stupid fucking boss, and then he'll pay him what he deserves, and then he'll become Karkat's boss's boss, and he'll keep going until he can't go any higher. And then he'll knock the pillars from beneath the-

_"I've stayed base salary at my office. I guess I thought I would have moved up by now? I mean what the hell do you suggest I do Eridan it's Seattle."_

Oh what does HE suggest? Oh he's got a lot of suggestions, but none of them are great. So he gives himself a second to cool down before he destroys the cup he's pulling from the cupboard. "I think, wwith howw often you're actin' as your friends' therapists, y'should start chargin' them your normal fees. They'll either stop pesterin' y'wwith their shit or pay it an' you'll get the extra pocket cash. I also think y'should ask for a raise yeah, but not before applyin' t'offices wwith higher pay rates." Damn right higher pay rates. Karkat's the hardest worker he knows and if they're not paying him enough to fucking live close to where he works it'll be their loss when he quits, and their funerals when Eridan fucking reports them to the labor commission. He'll do it. Somehow. He'll find something to go at them for, for sure.

_"I'm honestly surprised I've been working in my field at all considering I've just barely graduated with my bachelor's degree, and that was an accelerated program."_

"They gavve an exception for you didn't they?"

_"They did. I still don't know why and I'm pretty sure it's illegal but hey, I'm doing great and apparently they value me."_

More air, through his nose. Value, do they? That's what they do, now? "Oh bullshit if they vvalued y'they'd be payin' y'better than you're bein' paid right noww an' I'm half-tempted t'come ovver t'your office an' cheww their fuckin' dumbass heads off." More, than tempted. He hasn't been this angry since-

_"Please don't do that."_

"I wwon't because I'd probably cry halfwway through like the fuckin wwriggler I am. You're not payin' for coffee."

_"Fair. Um, so, what day would you be free?"_

He has the fucking gall to ask Eridan when things are convenient for _him?_ "I'm free pretty much all th'time considerin' th'nature of my job. Wwhen are y o u free, though, 'cause I knoww your damn schedule is packed an' don't tell me it ain't."

_"Sunday?"_

"Sunday's perfect. If I'm stayin' ovver I'm payin' for dinner too."

_"Anything to help my poor wallet."_

"Good. Are you busy right noww?"

_"Hell no, I'm watching some uninteresting garbage on my TV and I couldn't be more happy to talk to you."_

Flutters. Again, and this time, his heart skips, too.

"You fuckin' mushy bastard you take that back," take it back, because he wants to stay angry, and he hates this sudden confusion that swishes his brain jelly around, and because he thought he was over this, he took the time, didn't he? He bites the tip of his tongue to will away all the warmth.

_"No <3"_

He gets warmer.

"Fine but only 'cause I appreciate you an' your time an' your wwords."

_"I know you big dork."_

Shit, okay, he wants to be on the phone with him, he does, but he, can't, do this, right now, it's too _much_ for him, he'll-

"... So uh. Y'sure you're not busy right noww?"

_"Yeah, I'm completely free."_

"I'm sorry I keep askin' but I can't shake th'feelin' that I'm botherin' y'Kar."

_"You're not."_

A murmur, from his heart.

_"Um, if you want to come over earlier you can, you know."_

Another.

"Aren't y'busy until Sunday though Kar?"

_"I can make some time, if you don't mind helping me run some errands on Friday?"_

"That's t'morroww."

_"Yeah."_

And another.

_"Is, that too early?"_

And another, this time, longer, louder.

"No. I'll be ovver as soon as y'wwant me t'be there Kar, if y'need it."

_"I do."_

He feels a tremor in the muscle, the way it squeezes almost painful as it forces the blood to his head.

"Alright Kar. Wwhat time?"

_"As soon as you can get here."_

"Got it. D'y'need me t'let y'go Kar?"

_"No."_

No. 

_"Please don't."_

Don't _do_ this, to him.

"Evven, though I don't got much t'say Kar?"

_"It's enough to know you're on the other end, but you can talk as much as you like."_

"Yeah?" Talk? As if he can find something to say at all?

_"Yeah. It's relaxing."_

"Evven wwhen I'm runnin' my mouth about some stupid shit I did?"

_"Yeah."_

Eridan has to calmly reteach himself to breathe.

_"Eridan I know we just decided on tomorrow and it's getting way too late to drive over here but as soon as you can get here means like, if I get you your yogurt can you be here sooner?"_

Be there sooner. Be there, _sooner._ And he's bargaining."... Y'don't need t'bribe me, Kar. I'll be ovver there by midnight if y'can promise me you'll be awwake t'let me in."

_"Oh thank god, I fucking need this right now."_

He does.

"Is that a promise then?"

_"Of fucking course it is. I won't be able to sleep until you get here anyway."_

His heart squeezes so hard it pops, bursts, and he feels his body cavity fill with warm, syrupy feeling and he doesn't want it there. He doesn't want it, because he'll take it with him, and it won't go away, and it only gets warmer, and his heart won't stop gushing everywhere, won't stop throbbing until it bruises so badly it can no longer move. He'll die. God, he'll die like this. Does he, want to, though? He's questioning himself, because it's the warmest he's been in a long time, maybe even warmer than Monday night.

"I, I'll see y'in like, four hours?"

_"Wait, can you stay on the phone for a little while too?"_

Fuck.

_"Please?"_

_Fuck._

But maybe, there's, some other motive, he can't possibly-"Are y'sure your day wwas okay Kar?"

_"It-"_

"I mean I knoww it's rude t'pry but you're actin' real wweird, Kar, I don't think you'vve evver, really, needed me t'be on the phone wwith y'like this before an' it makes me a wworryin' sack a' shit stickin' my nose wwhere it doesn't belong-"

_"Eridan, hey, you're fine. I appreciate your concern, it tells me you care. I'm fine, I just need to have you here, I guess."_

_fUCK._

"You're talkin' an awwful lotta nonsense Kar."

_"Probably."_

He has to find a way to end this call he _has to find a way to end this call_ he, has. To find. A way to end this, call. How, how, how, what does he think of, what _can_ he think of, so that he can actually keep himself in enough pieces to drive over there?

"If y'can wwait until I get there t'talk t'me some more I'll stay up wwith y'as long as y'wwant?"

_"You promise?"_

"A'course I do silly I'm th'one wwho thought a'it."

_"... Okay. See you in a little while Eridan <3"_

It whimpers.

"See ya, Kar."

Eridan presses his finger to the end call button before another word can be said. His heart is left trembling, pleading with him to get back on call or leave already, it can't take another second of being away from him and maybe if it pounds hard enough, it'll leap from his ribs and be able to move on its own. Shaky, shallow breathing, for a minute or two, he lets himself settle. Once his heart has resigned to being trapped in its cage, but steeled in its intentions, he pulls a few bags from the closet in the front room. He'll be quick, as fast as he can go.

He can't afford to break his promise to Karkat.

* * *

"Hey, you're here!"

Eridan stands at the threshold of Karkat's house, digging his nails into the palms of his hands. It only makes his injuries worse, but he doesn't care. The drive was long and lonely and painful to bear without Karkat in the passenger's seat, with none of his soft snoring, with none of his inquisitive questions or rambling dialogue. He took a lot longer to load the car than he'd like, too, a lot longer to pack than he expected. He had to get everything he was planning to bring. It's not as much as he thought it would be, it just takes him ten minutes to do what other people can do in two.

He made it, though. After the seemingly unending stretch of empty road, he got here, and he couldn't be more conflicted. The moment he drove in he thought his heart would tear itself from his chest, leap out his throat and knock on the door itself. And yet, he himself was frozen. What if it all changed when Karkat opened the door? What if he found he didn't really want him there, when he saw him, and they had endured a weekend of torment and agonizing silence? It would be more than awkward, and he'd rather stab himself, as dramatic as that is. Not, however, an exaggeration of his feelings.

He gathered his courage to walk to his door and Karkat had somehow swung it open before he even knocked, and here they were, now, and Eridan is struggling, not because Karkat's not excited, because Karkat is. No,

Eridan stands at the threshold of Karkat's house, digging his nails into the palms of his hands to keep himself from looking directly at Karkat, and everything in him howls.

"I, yeah I am, I told y'I wwould be didn't I?" And while not a definite promise, he wants this so much more than he'll let himself want it.

"I mean you did but it's nice to see you anyway, I was worried you might fall asleep at the wheel."

"No wway in hell wwould I havve let that happen are y'fuckin' kiddin' my ass???"

"Good. Uh, come on in."

The night looms over him, stalking at his feet, claws barely slicing at his ankles, and then Karkat takes his hand and yanks him in without another thought. His hand is soft, warm enough to be flushed, grip firm but gentle. Karkat, from that moment on, has Eridan wrapped in his tiny little fingers. So, as Eridan helplessly follows, heart chained to Karkat's will of its own accord, he wonders exactly what the hell he's gotten himself into, and why he didn't stay home,

That is, until Karkat sits him on his couch. He leaves into his kitchen, and Eridan is reminded of his own intentions.

"I'll get you some tea? Sorry, I only have Lipton."

"No need t'be sorry, I'm guessin' y'only drink it t'get wwarm or help your sickness along then?"

"Yeah."

He peeks in at Karkat and waits until he's looking in his direction, gestures that he'll be getting his things. He can't see Karkat's face, but he can see the motion of his nod, and with that, he dismisses himself.

He brings in his clothes (only one bag because fuck that,) and then goes to get, everything else. Most of it, of course, being-

"What the hell did you bring over?"

Ah yes. His curiosity is strong.

"Some damn food so you'vve got somethin' t'eat damnit I'm fuckin' pissed at your fuckin' boss right noww an' I'll tell y'wwhat if anyone wwants t'take y'anywwhere wwhile I'm dowwn here you're only goin' if they're payin' for y'or I'm payin' for your ass."

"Eridan that's embarrassing."

Embarrassing, maybe, but smart. He could afford to make smarter choices in the future.

"Frankly I don't fuckin' care if it's embarrassin' I don't wwant your ass t'be any more fried than it already is Kar."

"It's not like I'm going anywhere with anyone but you this weekend."

His heart quivers, and it only works to steel his resolve. He huffs. "Fuckin' good. So you'll havve no problem wwith me helpin' y'out then? If you're thinkin' a'spendin a single cent on anythin' you're fuckin' playin' wwith some damn fire an' I'll let the devvil pull the teeth from my mouth before I let y'convvince me otherwwise Kar."

"How in the hell would I fucking pay you ba-"

"Cut the fuckin' bullshit y'knoww damn wwell I don't need t'be paid back for anythin' evver but if y'wwanna pay me back consider: livvin'? Thrivvin'? Evver thought a'those things Kar? Maybe put your fuckin' boss on th'choppin' block for his sins so I can removve his fuckin' arms-sorry I'm real heated about it is all Kar."

He already agreed to let him pay for coffee so he wouldn't go back on that, but fuck man, fuck. He can't, let this, go, and he won't. Karkat will yield, or they'll sit here arguing until Eridan eventually kicks the-uh, keels over and dies. Karkat holds up two packets of tea and shuffles them in a way that asks 'one or two?' and Eridan holds up two fingers. Karkat plops them into whatever mug he's using, he can't see very well. It's dark in here. Yes, trolls are-no, used to be, kind of still are, nocturnal. He'd be able to see better if he was underwater. He's lucky he hasn't accidentally met eyes yet.

"I know. Eridan the guilt would eat me alive-"

"The guilt can fuckin' throww as many punches as it wwants, I'll eat its hands."

"Eridan."

"If there's one good thing t'put my stubborn ass in front'a it's _your_ stubborn ass, Kar, 'cause I knoww y'wwont budge on it but neither wwill I an' you'll havve t'kill me before y'get me t'movve on the position."

"You're more flexible than you claim yourself to be, you know."

"So are you. An' didn't y'say anythin' t'help your poor wwallet?"

Damn right he did, and that's a sigh of defeat. It makes his chest tighten uncomfortably, he didn't mean to make him feel bad, he, just-

"Fine but god it makes me feel like a fucking grub!"

"There ain't nothin' wwrong wwith gettin' help from people Kar an' financial help is alwways a little tricky but if I'vve got money comin' out my ass an' you need help like hell I'm gonna keep that shit for myself th'fuck wwould I be? Fef? Fef can fuckin' shovve her damn trident so far up her pretentious ass that it comes outta her mouth."

The mention of Feferi seems to release some of the tension in Karkat's shoulders, and he breathes a chuckle between his lips. Fuck, he'll choke on his own throat.

"That's fucking hilarious."

"Not really. Sorry I'm, I'vve got problems."

The kettle whistles, interrupting them, and Karkat pulls it off to pour over the tea, letting out a heavy, drawn out sigh. He sounds, so exhausted. Guilt grabs harder at Eridan's gut, and he'd cut it out if he felt like it would do either of them any good. The water helps to soothe his nerves. Karkat tips the kettle up and hands him his tea, Eridan takes it.

Eridan didn't realize he was shaking. Maybe he's hungry.

Karkat grabs a mug of his own, watching the water flow into it. "You're fine, Eridan. She's been making my life difficult lately. I get people texting me all the time about whatever shit is going on between them and Feferi and I'm so fucking done. If she was easier to work with I could nip the fucking problem in the bud before it got out of control, but she's never the one to talk to me about it. It's always someone else's fault. No one can touch her. I've tried to talk to her about things to at least see where she's coming from, you know, but she goes quiet and fucking ignores me. Like I'm the fucking bad guy for trying to help! I would take something like 'Leave me alone, I don't want to be talked to right now,' or like, an 'I don't feel comfortable in confiding in you with these issues,' or 'I don't understand why my quadrantmates keep coming to you with our issues, could you please tell them to stop?' No. I don't get shit. It makes me less willing to help her with anything, ever. And then she's got this fucking birthday party coming up-"

"Oh yeah. I remember Sol textin' me somethin' about that but I don't really wwanna go."

"You don't?"

"Wwhy the hell wwould I? Evveryone wwho might be there is gonna hate my fuckin' guts or barely tolerate me, wwhy wwould I wwant t'subject myself t'that kind'a envvironment wwhen I could be doin' other things?"

"Other things, huh?"

"Wwell duh, not like I'm gonna sit around just because I'm not goin' somewwhere I didn't evven bother t'make plans for, right?"

The conversation drifts away while they both make their way to the couch, Eridan sitting as far away as he can manage without making it too awkward. Karkat closes most of the distance when he makes a move to scoot closer. Presses, his shoulder into his own. He's always been so warm, hasn't he? He almost leans into him. Almost.

"Did you want to do something together instead?"

A slap to the face. Not an offensive slap, no, it came out of nowhere, that's all. Wouldn't he...?

"Y'don't wwanna go?"

"Yeah."

"Wwhy not? Evveryone there is gonna wwonder wwhere y'are."

"They sure are. It gets tiring when everyone else is tugging you around like some fucking sock puppet or ragdoll. And then they always keep tabs on me, as if I'm some meaty human child that can't even hold its head up right and destroys everything its filthy little claws touch. I'm an adult, I can handle myself."

He can, he doesn't question that, though... "I dunno, you're pretty brash. I can see wwhy they might be wworried about y'Kar."

"It's not always because they're worried."

Right, right. He remembers, he knows. He dares to pat him on the shoulder, and Karkat holds his arm there before he can pull it away.

Eridan, pulls in a shaky breath. "I guess evven if it's outta good nature, y'need your space t'breathe and livve. D'they evver givve y'a break from anythin'? D'y'evver really get t'decide wwhat y'wwanna do for yourself that day, or d'y'just let them drag y'along?"

"I don't make a lot of my own decisions."

"Wwell, I'll try not t'let my concern take ovver things from noww on. Sorry about earlier."

"What the hell do you mean?"

"I mean wwhen I got here an' threww a borderline tantrum about payin' for shit."

A soft chuckle, and his tone drops its slight sharpness. "Oh you're fine are you fucking kidding me no one else would even think twice about whether or not I have enough to cover shit. Hm, wait, except for maybe Gamzee and Nepeta? They do a pretty good job of either comping or finding cheap stuff to do. I'd say Aradia too but she's always with Nepeta."

"Wwhy's that?"

"They're matesprits now, super cute together, too."

"Awwww."

"Yeah. It's not enough though when you've got like, six other people breathing down your back about constantly being in their presence. Tavros is pretty chill about shit so he's excluded from the list."

"Wwait, you're forgettin' someone else."

"Yeah, you."

He quirks an eyebrow, even if it's to himself. "I dunno... Y'sure I'm not on that list?"

"That better have been sarcasm or I'm gonna shove your fucking jacket in your mouth shut the fuck up."

"It wwas only half-sarcastic."

"I'll fucking take it over nothing."

Silence settles again and Eridan manages to slip his arm away from Karkat. The loss of warmth almost kills him, but it's fine, it is. He can't stay too close. It's not good for either of them, mostly because he's so cold he'll end up stealing all of Karkat's heat, and then Karkat might catch a cold or something. And, because he can't give himself any false hope now, can he?

"You can scoot closer, you know."

He doesn't know if he wants to or not.

"I don't wwanna make y'too uncomfortable Kar."

"I can handle it, I promise."

Eridan hesitates. What happens if he scoots closer, then? Do they, stay like that? It wouldn't be too bad, right?

So he does, and Karkat leans into him, pulls his legs onto the couch to press right into his side. He shivers at the contrast in temperature. Karkat reaches down and pulls up a blanket, lays it over... both of them? Tucks it on the other side of Eridan, and climbs into his lap to wrap his arms around him, tuck, his head in the crook of his neck.

Oh dear lord help his poor soul.

"Wwhat in th'hell are y'doin'?" he asks, as he brings a hand to push his glasses up his nose. Is he seeing this right?

"You're always cold, so I thought I might as well warm you up?"

His breath is hot against his shoulder, ticklish when it brushes the tips of his gills. Another shiver, and Karkat pulls himself closer, squeezes enough to strain Eridan's breathing, as if he wasn't having enough trouble. His hand finds its way to Eridan's chest, drags down until it's over his heart. He has to have found him out. That's, the only reasonable explanation for this _torture._ That, or he's utterly oblivious to the fact that Eridan can barely handle himself around Karkat, completely unaware of how fast his pulse races underneath his fingers. He holds his breath, waiting for Karkat to scream in his face, tell him to get out or go away, leave him alone. Never come back. Follow others before him and shun him out of disgust. He's not worthy, he's not worthy, he's not worthy of those fingers ghosting over his chest, he's not worthy of the warmth he brings, of the stars that kindle beneath his touch, and so he's waiting. Waiting for it.

What he's waiting for never comes.

"Wwhy th'hell wwould y'wwanna do that Kar?"

"... Because, you're my friend and I'm concerned for your health and well-being and would like to make you comfortable?"

His tone isn't convincing.

"An' th'wwhole, uh. Cuddlin' thing you'vve got goin' on here?"

"I need these."

"Wwhy d'y'need them exactly?"

"I, don't know but will you shut up and let me cuddle you damnit?"

Adamant.

"If y'wwanted cuddles so bad couldn't y'havve called Gam ovver instead? He livves closer."

"I already got them from Gamzee today, he's sleeping right now. It's not the _only_ reason I called you over here, although I totally wanted them from you."

"Wwhy??? Sorry I'm, genuinely confused is all."

He's cold, repulsive, bothersome; Karkat keeps telling him things that confuse what's already been established and he falters in his belief, but he can't deny the evidence. When everyone hates your ass? What else is there? He spent so long blaming his faults on other people that he only realized it was _his fault_ when it was too late. Of course they hate him. He's, always been confused as to why Karkat even talks to him, when he has everyone else to talk to. What the hell is this? Why does Karkat want _him_ here? He's not worthy, he's not worthy, he's-

"You have very nice cuddles, I've, been thinking about them all morning. Please? Let me have this?"

His heart swells until it's dangerously close to bursting once more.

Karkat may not be looking at Eridan, but Eridan turns his head away anyway, to hide the burning of his face, to hide the betrayal of his own feelings. "... F, Fine. Get your ass comfortable then."

"Thanks Eridan."

"Nnno, prob?"

Karkat pulls himself away, but only enough. His hands still linger, guide his adjustments until Eridan is laying with his back pressed to the cushions. He gives himself a moment to take off his shoes, and then he curls himself up on top of Eridan, sinks his face into his chest and tangles his legs in his. He's not actually that much smaller than Eridan, maybe four inches shorter, at most. He makes himself go slack so that Karkat feels less of his sharp angles, and so it's easier for him to breathe with all the weight on him. Pulls the blanket over them again, dangles his arm over the side.

Karkat snatches it right back up and drapes it over himself.

"Kar you're actin' fuckin' wweird lately. D'y'havve any idea wwhy an' if y'do can y'please tell me so I'm not freakin' out a little bit ovver here?"

He pushes himself up on his elbows, tries to look in Eridan's eyes. Eridan won't let him. "I, I can stop if you feel-"

"No, that's not wwhat I said, Kar, wwhatevver makes y'happy is fine. My concern is that it's unusual behavvior for y't'be exhibitin'."

"I, know."

"Y'dont really knoww wwhy it's like this then?"

"No."

He keeps, searching for his gaze, he can feel his heart beating faster, his hands clutching at Eridan's shirt. Give it up, Karkat; Eridan doesn't have the guts and he never has. He'll be found out, and _Karkat_ will be found out, and is this how they want either of those things to happen? Neither of those things, have to happen. Not yet. Let him pretend. Let him pretend that he can live this way forever, dancing around things that storm beneath his feet. Everything that he has now is one long daydream on top of a breathing nightmare that thrives the longer he neglects it, breeds new nightmares to haunt him after he's done living the last one. Hell. After hell, after hell, hundreds of years of it, and then? And then, he'll live a different kind of hell. But it's okay to daydream, right? It, doesn't hurt anyone. He's the only one who will have to suffer for it when it all comes to a halt.

Let's fuel that daydream before it all comes to a halt.

"Wwell I guess I can't really blame y'for it, then, can I?"

He refuses to let it all come to a halt.

Karkat sighs again and his eyes are off somewhere else. Good. Good, that's perfect. He scoots up just a tad before sinking back into him, hiding his face in the crook of his neck once more. Not quite as ideal as he'd like, but he'll take it over his curious, searching eyes. He lets his runaway feelings return to him as long as they don't make him do something stupid; a terrible move, to trust his feelings like that. He only cares enough to be wary. Caution blurs the longer he feels Karkat's slow, steady breathing, the kind that brings you closer to the edge of sleep with every heave of air. He finds himself sighing, too, silently. A breath he releases to ease the tension in his shoulders. It works better than he thought it would, though he can tell its effectiveness was due in a large part to Karkat's presence.

"Y'cozy?"

"Yeah <3"

"Good 'cause I'm not fuckin' gettin' off the couch t'do anythin' for a couple hours at least."

"Hell fucking yes."

He tries to ignore his heart running away with his feelings once more, but it leaves a long and thick rope for him to follow that's too tempting to look away from. He doesn't grab it. Tension returns. Eridan stills.

"Sorry, that was fucking weird."

No, it's his fault, not Karkat's, and he attempts to patch over the weird leak he must have felt dripping from him. "I'm just impressed at your enthusiasm ovver somethin' small like this."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Everything is released into the darkness that cradles them, tucked away for a later time, maybe. He doesn't mind if it never comes back. A lot of things leave, and that's just how things are, after all, they never had to think about looking behind them. He feels weightless, but not an uncomfortable kind, not the kind where he feels he doesn't have a body anymore, not the kind where he feels he's been ripped from the world and the next moment he closes his eyes will be his last. No, it's a small hover over the surface, floating just above anything that could hurt him, away from whatever grief could come to haunt them with bludgeoning gravity. Maybe things could fall on top of them, but they're beneath clear open expanse, for now. It's all okay. Everything is okay, right here, and as long as they keep breathing through the dark, nothing can hurt them.

Who knows how long they lay there? Time runs away from those who don't dare to keep track of it, who don't care to fill it with menial tasks for the sake of keeping themselves busy. That type of doing things isn't truly living, is it? Only when you immerse yourself in it, only when you dare to feel, instead of calculate, only when you dare to dream and to breathe does time bolt along with the blood that pumps through your arteries. It likes the feeling of the rush just as much as you do. It likes to live. Only those who choose to really live can give it that, and it'll cling to you. Just as it clings to them, and spirals down the path of their heartbeats.

Eridan closes his eyes, tunes himself into the rhythm of their collective being. A soothing lullaby, and he drifts off to sleep.

Only, he doesn't. As close as he gets, something stops him. The rhythm being thrown off. Some, dread, that comes and ruins everything, not from Eridan, no. Not from him. That's the scariest revelation he's had in a little while, that dread could come from anywhere but himself, and his eyes peer open to find Karkat's moved around a little bit, that his fingers are tapping impatiently, that his hand twitches every now and then, that he's straining to keep his breathing in pace. Every tap throws him off, too, and he sits up just a little bit. Karkat moves to look at him again.

No, no. Don't do that. He looks away and Karkat reaches for his cheek, before he pulls his hand to rest on his sternum.

"We, used to talk every night."

They, did. They did do that, and why does it matter that they don't now? It only hurt so much to think about by himself, and he could bear it knowing maybe Karkat was okay with it, and that it was, due to them doing their own things. Being too busy. It hurts more now, now that he's brought it up.

"That, wwas a long time ago, Kar. I can hardly remember it, evven though it's hard t'forget at the same time."

"What happened?"

What happened? He lets his mind take him back down the path of events that brought them to here, and he finds it starts with some of the most painful memories of all. Because what doesn't?

Every start is painful, including birth.

"... The wworld ended, and none of us wwere evver the same. Y'wwould knoww. You're here experiencin' the aftermath wwith th'rest a'us, aren't you?"

He must be confused. Maybe he can elaborate.

"Wwe're incredibly lucky wwe had somethin' t'come back to, no matter howw hard wwe wworked. No matter howw much wwe deservve this, Kar. Wwe coulda been stuck in the medium for all a'eternity an' yet wwe're out here livvin' livves that wwill turn out t'be more normal than they could havve evver been on Alternia. Wwe don't havve t'givve our livves t'anythin' anymore, not evven the stars. An' I'm not dyin' for a long time, so I'vve got hundreds a'years on me t'really livve as a rewward for all the shit wwe'vve done."

Hundreds of years, and Karkat won't follow.

They both feel the pain that grabs hold of them, feel the tightness in each other's chests.

"I nevver really thought I'd get this far, evven wwhen I got out. I thought I'd sit there an' wwaste awway."

He should. He should waste away. He doesn't deserve this.

"Sometimes, I still feel that wway."

He doesn't deserve to feel anything else, after all, so why doesn't he feel it always?

Karkat laces his fingers in Eridan's, and the rope grows longer. He can almost see it peer over the edge of this endless void, and it glows a soft and light yellow. He can see every demon that loves to torment him so, they cower away as he steps closer. Not yet. Maybe one day he'll grab it, because it won't leave until he does, but not yet.

"I didn't mean it like that."

What else could he have meant?

"You were there. I could have, walked in and talked to you at any time, and I didn't. Why didn't I?"

Oh, on that little meteor with all of those respite blocks when everything was ready to crush them underneath their heels like the insects they were. He hardly let himself stay there long, burying himself in vengeance that was never really vengeance. Maybe he was angry he ever had to be chosen for it. Maybe he wanted a normal life, maybe he didn't want to be the hero. Maybe he thought it wasn't fair to his friends to have to bear the burden of saving something that could never be saved. Winning something they could never win. Maybe he felt like everything was falling apart and that, if he, did enough, maybe he could fix it. It never fixed. He never had enough. He gave up, and when he went to give everyone an opportunity to throw the towel in with him, he found they were all doing okay without him.

It broke him, but he should have known.

Everything went dark, and all he could see were glowing figures and their white hot lives stretched out before him, gnarled in knots, twisted in loops and curves and little lightning bolts that looked like tree branches. He could see where they ended. Whether it was because of him or not. He heard the whispers and screams of those who had come before them, begging for help, pleading to be saved, asking him to bring them back so they could finish their own games. So, many that tried and failed, and what was he supposed to think? He shot at anything that came near out of terror and fear. All he wanted, all he wanted, was to die so that he didn't have to hear it anymore.

He was only pulled from his trance when his weapon of destruction was snapped in two, and he got his wish.

That, however, is beside the point. Karkat did make time to talk, as much as he could with everything he was doing. Karkat was the only one who bothered. He should have done better, for him, at least, if no one else, if not himself, he should have thought harder, he should have followed his lead and been the best right-hand-man he could have ever managed at six sweeps. He's so sorry, but that's not for him to feel right now. Reassurance. Reassurance, his focus needs to be there. He leads himself back and figures out how to breathe with Karkat's elbow in his ribs.

"Wwhat wwould you havve said t'me? Did you evven havve time? You'd alwways be runnin' around like a chicken wwith its head cut off tyin' up loose ends an' fixin' problems. Howw could y'havve had more room in your already tight schedule for me?"

"I made it for everyone else, didn't I?"

Who cares? They needed it then, more than he did, and even more still after he hurt everyone, didn't they?

"Wwell, th'point I'm tryin' t'make is that evverythin' wwent t'shit, an' wwe had scarier things t'wworry about, Kar."

It doesn't help. He's not enough, because he feels his grip squeeze his shirt.

"I miss it."

He knows. He can feel that. He doesn't want him to feel that way, it doesn't help either of them.

"Y'told me that already, Kar."

"No, I didn't. I told you something different, maybe something similar, maybe something parallel. Not this."

More. More of that awful feeling, and he chews on his tongue to keep from saying stupid shit that won't end up doing anything but making things worse. But then it dies down, and Karkat is looking, yet again, for his eyes. Stop, stop. He's not worthy.

"Can we go back to that?"

Go back to hell? No.

"Wwhy wwould you wwant to?"

"I just told you."

Oh, different, different. Before they entered. He wants to talk. He's been, very in need of that lately, and he questions it, but he won't say anything right now.

"Do you not miss it?"

Does he? He doesn't even have to think on it, but he hesitates with his answer anyway. "I, I do, Kar."

"Then, why do I feel like you're afraid?"

He is. For so many reasons, he is. The more they talk, the more he knows. The longer he's here, the more he knows. He'll know, he'll know, he'll know, and everything will end because he'll know. He's so afraid. Let it be. Let it rest, let him pretend, before it all comes to a halt.

"I, dunno Kar. It's probably your imagination, you're alwways thinkin' th'wworst evven if y'are a prospit dreamer. S'your anxiety."

"I guess."

Good, good. Relief. Temporary, maybe, or maybe it's more than that. He likes to bring him relief. He doesn't want to be his problem, and he'll keep it that way as long as he can manage. Pretending is good. Pretending is a way to make that happen.

His hand is on his cheek, tilting it to turn towards him. He resists, despite the yearning it makes him feel. His heart screams.

"I'll text you every night from now on okay? You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but you'll be able to if you feel like it."

It's not manageable, life happens. But he can't say no.

"Don't make any promises Kar."

And then those demons, too, are boxed up and given to the night, and they fall into comfort. He's so cute, like this. He can't help his thoughts, and it's better to acknowledge them, as much as he's told himself otherwise even tonight, so that they can leave. This one doesn't. How could it? So clingy and soft and always looking for something to do with his hands. Looking for the perfect spot to rest his head. Shallow breathing in his small little landdwelling lungs, though his aren't much bigger. He wraps his arms around him for comfort, brings him close so he can forget everything he has to do tomorrow. He can bring him to sleep. He's done it before, on the few occasions he was allowed to be as close as he wanted, when Karkat would cry into his shoulder and ask him why things were so bad. He's more fragile than he thinks he is. He's always been. Tough little crab, angry and pointy and harsh on the outside, with soft and tender meat on the inside. A cute crab. He likes crabs. He's thought of getting hermit crabs before, but he could never provide them with the care they deserve.

He's never seen his tears, Karkat wouldn't let him, but he got to feel his tears, and they're about the worst thing he's ever had to experience. Karkat has too many burdens. He wants to lift them. He can't lift them. He can't get close, not anymore. Why should he be allowed to?

Just this, tonight. And then they can go back to being proper friends at a respectable distance, like they never have been in their entire lives.

His breathing deepens and his muscles relax, small noises rumbling in his chest every now and then. He makes sure it's been an even longer while before he attempts to get up, maybe because he wants to indulge, but also because he can't let himself wake Karkat. Carefully, he pulls the blanket off, sits upright and pushes himself on his feet-

"Wait, don't take me to my room."

He jolts.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ Kar I thought y'wwere asleep!"

Dangerous to talk like that while he's holding him, even if he's back on the couch now. Wouldn't he prefer the bed?

"Wwait, wwhy not?"

"I wanna stay here with you."

Burning. God, it burns, all over his body, but his chest and his face most of all, searing hot light yellow feeling.

"I, I think you'd rather be more comfortable Kar, I'm not exactly a great sleepin' partner, 'specially in th'wwinter Kar, an' evven if I couldn't convvince y'otherwwise, sleepin' on th'couch wwith nothin' but a thin blanket, Kar, an' wwith me, too, you'll only catch yourself a cold-"

"Then come with me."

Brighter.

"Ww, wwhat?"

"Please."

Brighter, still.

"I'd do no good for y'evven under thick blankets Kar-"

"I don't care."

Fuller.

"I won't be able to sleep without you."

He'll blow, he can't handle it, he-

"Please, Eridan."

And his feeble little heart erupts once again and he _yields._

"... Fine. Fine, but just this once an' that's it, got it Kar?"

"Yeah."

He was supposed to be strong. He was supposed to have willpower. It hasn't been a problem before. Why can't he win, why can't he win against himself, why is he so weak?

"If y'catch a cold don't come wwhinin' t'me about it 'cause I wwarned y'about it, but I'll help y'get through it anywway if y'need me to."

"Yeah."

He gets up and leads him to his room, and Karkat almost slips into bed, before Eridan realizes they're both somehow sweaty and gross and he demands Karkat takes a shower and gets changed. He bickers a little, resists, but eventually agrees, grabbing some pajamas and slipping into his bathroom. Eridan leaves to put things in places that will keep them how they're supposed to be (note: food, because you kinda have to keep things refrigerated, right?), to clean things up a little and maybe run a load of laundry for Karkat. The, blanket smells like Karkat, like heavy musk with a touch of smoke to it. He has trouble parting with it. He can manage. He's an adult.

By the time he comes back Karkat's already in bed and shivering slightly, the idiot, he forgot to dry his hair. Eridan practically chases him down with the hairdryer as he complains that it's too hot for his horns and why the hell does he have to dry his hair anyway? He gets him to set it on medium setting instead of blasting the heat. Karkat points him towards the shower, and, he hesitates. But he can't get Karkat all sweaty and gross again, can he? Hard work for nothing? He doesn't think so.

So he slips into his shower and digs his nails into his thigh. Resist, fuck, please. It smells so much like him in here he'll suffocate before he gets clean, he thinks. His hand reaches down, then retracts. It's white in here. It's clean, and fresh, and white, and no matter how much water sprays it away, there will never be enough to wash out the stain of his sins, if he indulges. He keeps his grip on his skin sharp. He scrubs until it stings a little, but not too much, tries to be fast, doesn't want his water bill to hike up because of Eridan's wandering thoughts.

And oh, do they wander, but that's for another time, when things are a little less risky.

He grabs a towel off the rack and dries himself before the cold can settle again in his core, though he knows he'll end up freezing himself anyway. Pulls his clothes on, turns the light off as he makes his way out. Goes to dry his hair. Karkat yanks him under the covers before he can, and he protests, struggles all while telling him he's going to make his pillow wet. Fuck it, he tells him, I need you, he tells him, and his fight dies there, and he crawls back under, and then Karkat attacks his hair with a towel. He's more careful than he gives Karkat credit for, for sure, because he avoided his horns the whole time. A fake grumble when everything's done, to save face. Karkat snuggles up to him, though their backs are to each other. He doesn't resist.

It feels, surreal. It's cozy, and pleasant, and he doesn't feel chilled. Everything smells like Karkat. Everything, smells, like Karkat. Everything feels like Karkat, more like home than his own home has ever felt to him, inviting and comforting and all sorts of fuzzy he hates to feel because he'll have to go away from it. His breathing is so calm, and he thinks he's settled into sleep, until he flips on his side and tries to wrap an arm around him. Eridan flips too, Karkat tries to scramble to make it seem like it wasn't him. Cute. He's been caught though.

"Go t'bed Kar."

"Sorry I. I don't know why I'm having trouble with it lately."

"Are y'havvin' nightmares Kar?"

"Only as much as I normally do, but they're getting worse and I don't, want to fall to sleep."

Well, he guesses he can't blame him for it, then, can he?

"Wwell, I'll be right here wwhen y'wwake up, okay?"

"Okay."

He turns away from him again and Karkat huffs as he settles back down. A very consistent grumble, if he might say, stays in his throat until Eridan gives in and pulls him into his form. He acts surprised. He isn't, or at least, he's not unhappy with the development, because he shoves himself as close as he can possibly get and tugs Eridan's arms so that they lock him in. He doesn't know why he likes this, on his end. What if he has to fucking pee? What then? He'll have trouble getting out of it, but Eridan can't say he hates it. Makes him feel, needed. And cared for. And all of that searing hot white feeling slicks over his insides and it's fuzzy. Goddamnit, he's hopeless.

So much longer, he thinks, and he has to be asleep now, right? He should ask.

"Y'asleep yet?"

"No."

Fucking, "God fuckin' damnit Kar is there anythin' I can do t'make you fall th'fuck t'sleep then?"

A mumble. Barely there, huffed into the collar of his turtleneck pajamas, but his fins twitch. He picks up on it. He doesn't think he heard it right.

"Y'wwant me, t'wwhat noww?"

"Play with my hair."

Play, with his hair. What, kind of crazy, for his hands to be so close to his horns? After all of that fuss about the hair dryer, he wants him to put his hands, in his hair, and do what he wants with it? He's, what? And then another thought hits him and his heart flares and tells him to do it already, or it'll stop right there and Karkat will be trapped in dead seadweller arms.

It smells good.

"You're lucky I'd givve my fuckin' left arm for your ass at a moment's notice or the vvery notion a'that proposition wwoulda been fuckin' insanity."

"Yeah, I know."

He, carefully sinks his fingers in until they reach his scalp and Karkat _purrs._ He, fuck, he really purrs. He's barely done anything to it and here he is happy as-oh, maybe he's a little snippy. He's still for too long and Karkat puts his hand on his to tell him to _do it, already, damnit,_ and he can't help the chuckle that bubbles from his lungs. His fingers draw subtle shapes as they move, and Karkat tilts his head into his hand, melting into a puddle of purring grub mush. Goddamnit. Damnit all, his feelings tie in little knots and blow little fireworks all over the place.

"Not t'be fuckin' wweird but you're cute as hell."

He tries to look at him from his hand, but relaxes back into it with a hum when he scratches just next to his horn. "'M not cute."

"You're right, you're absolutely fuckin' precious Kar. Y'could get anyone t'do anythin' for y'like this savve for people wwho don't fuckin' havve eyeballs or half a fuckin' brain."

"Ohmygod stop embarrassing me."

"Y'vve already done enough a'that yourself t'night wwith all the pitiful askin' y'vve done me, I'm surprised you're embarrassed at me sayin' anything t'y'at all about anythin'. I thought you wwere immune t'things like bein' embarrassed."

"Not really."

"Wwell I'll havve t'throww my misconceptions out th'wwindoww then, 'cause if you're embarrassed by your askin' things your bravvery knowws no bounds."

"Shut up and play with my fucking hair, asshole."

"That's fair."

He itches behind his ear too and oh _jesus lord almighty oh he's s o cute,_ with the way he snuggles in closer. It's not fair. It's not _fair,_ his heart says, he can't take it and it's squealing at him so loud he might as well be squealing himself. It courses through his fingers and he's so sure Karkat can hear the way it squeals too, when he nestles his head in a more comfortable position. It might kill him to keep going if it's more of this, but for Karkat? He'll die.

"Can you talk some more?"

"Y'just told me t'shut up Kar."

"I know but, I want to hear you."

His heart bounces out of his throat and he, almost trembles. Hot. Everything is hot, and it's different feelings, a deep red flame. Not something you say, here, Karkat.

"Phrasin' Kar."

"Sorry. I want to listen to you talk, is what I mean."

"Y'really find it that calmin' huh? I alwways thought my vvoice wwas annoyin' as all hell seein' as no one evver wwanted t'talk t'me an' I do havve a funny accent. I'vve been wworkin' on it as much as I can but it doesn't like t'go awway, unfortunately. Creates some real problems wwhen people wwho ain't used t'it ask me t'clarify somethin' for them an' I havve t'wwrite it dowwn."

"It's not that hard to understand."

"I dunno, humans find a lotta relativvely mild Alternian speech quirks hard t'listen t'an' understand."

And he realizes Karkat is getting exactly what he wants, because Eridan can't learn to shut his mouth sometimes, and hold on a second, why the fuck is he doing this?

"Wwait you're supposed t'be sleepin'! Goddamnit. Th'more I talk th'longer you're gonna stay awwake an' then you'll be up 'till th'ass crack a-"

"Well, you did promise me you'd stay up with me."

Did he?

"... R, Right, I did, didn't I?"

He pulls his hand away in his thoughts and Karkat whimpers. He doesn't hear it. That's a good thing.

"Hey, I have a TV in here."

"Yeah? Wwhat th'hell wwould y'evven wwanna wwatch this early in th'mornin'?"

"Something you'll give commentary on."

"Y'really wwanna hear my fuckin' garbage vvoice _that_ badly?"

"It'll help me fall to sleep."

Does he really want to turn it on, though? The noise and the bright lights will blare and they won't-right, he just remembered he promised to stay up. No sleep. Right, right.

He adjusts himself so that he can find the remote, presses the power button and turns the channel to some bullshit he doesn't care about. He said commentary, right? Karkat cuddles into him, ear resting over his sternum and arm clutching at his side. His hand is close to his side gills, so he moves it up a bit. If his fingers curled on those he can't imagine the pain he'd be in. He sits and he babbles on. Karkat only gets more frustrated, though, and he tries to reach for the remote. His arms are too short. He doesn't make a move to get up.

"The TV is too loud, I can't hear you when you talk."

"Lemme turn it dowwn then, Kar."

He's following every little order, a dedicated servant to his ruler. Oh, how the tables have tabled, he thinks, as he turns it down so it's just enough to be heard, without it ever having a chance of mixing with his voice.

"Better?"

"Mmhmm."

He drawls on and on and on and Karkat eats it all up, barely listening enough to pay attention but reveling in it all the same, telling him to keep going when it starts to die off. It's more difficult to think of things to talk about than he thought, with boring garbage like this. It's some shitty soap opera that shouldn't have any business running on TV, and as soon as he's done ranting about it, he can't manage to press the remote button, even. Slowly drifting off to sleep, until Karkat speaks up.

"I forgot to get you your yogurt."

An interesting thing to say so late at night. "I got my owwn Kar, I told y'y'didn't havve t'bribe me t'come ovver."

"It wasn't a bribe."

"Like I wwas gonna let you get it anywway."

"I mean if I had went to get it without you knowing you couldn't have stopped me."

"I wwoulda paid for it then."

"You would have but I would have fought over it."

"Damn right you wwoulda."

"I might have won."

"Nah, I'm too much a'a prick t'let my pride go ovver some fuckin' yogurt."

"I don't think you're as much of a prick as you believe yourself to be."

"You're right. I'm more a'one."

"You're not, so if I argue with you will it help you think of things to say?"

Of course, the sly little fucker. He can feel the grin he has through the fabric of his pajama shirt, the way his lips curl as he bathes in triumph. He tries to remember how they look, but he can't. His face is the only memory he can't hold onto, but the only one he wants to have more than anything. A pang in his heart. Heartburn, too, but then he remembers Karkat's silly little game and he's okay for a little bit.

"I think if y'didn't bother arguin' I might find some nonsense t'babble about for y'if you'd like that, Kar."

"Yeah <3"

He flips it to a different channel and though he's in danger of passing out any minute now, he talks like he'll cease to exist if he stops. Happy. It makes him happy, and so he'll bring him that happiness, because he can provide. He feels him yawn after a long while, maybe hours, maybe less than that. Eridan pulls a hand to draw shapes in his back. He hums. Eridan could cry.

"Y'almost asleep Kar?"

"Yeah."

"Wwant me t'turn off th'TV noww?"

"Yeah."

A quick press to the power button, and everything is bathed in darkness. He can't see, at all, but still manages to feel for the nightstand and place the remote, and his glasses, down and away from the both of them. Now, even if he looks at him, he won't be able to see it. Being blind is nice sometimes.

"Y'okay wwith me bein' quiet noww, Kar?"

"I think so."

He snuggles further in, but shivers slightly.

"Can you pull the blanket at the edge of the bed up?"

"Sure."

Eridan sits up and grunts as he reaches over the bed to grab at the edge, yanks it up as he snaps back down. He can't be bothered to really adjust it, so he flings his arm at the fabric hoping it'll drape in the right places and keep Karkat warm.

"Y'comfortable like this Kar?"

"Hold on."

Another adjustment. They return to where they were before he turned on the TV, only this time he's facing him, legs bundled in his own, arms intertwined with his. He's too tired to care, but his heart sings. Karkat could hear it, if he listened. His face is buried in his neck and he feels his lips move against his gills when he says it.

"Better."

He shivers.

"Anythin' else y'need?"

"Can you play with my hair again?"

"I, I guess I can."

His fingers thread through his soft fluff of hair, and they stay there until they fall to his back with the faint beam of sunlight that falls on his cheeks.


	9. Fresh Static Snow

He is awake, but there is nothing to greet him but darkness, and cold, empty sheets.

It's too early for him to be up like this. He must be on his work schedule, still, if he's up before there's any light, he thinks, but then he remembers that it's winter, and he might actually be up too late to go into work, anyway, and it doesn't matter, because he can go back to sleep whenever he wants to. There's no need to compare his current waking hours to his work hours. He doesn't have an alarm on. It would be perfect, right now, so perfect, if he could close his bleary eyes, sink back into his warm, inviting mattress, and dissolve back into his dreams, where he isn't alone, and he has no current responsibilities, and he can be at peace.

Ah, but, see, that's exactly what's keeping him from it, isn't it? And now that he thinks about it, the dark of night is actually his blackout curtain, but he didn't close them. Or maybe he did. He's concerned that last night might have been the result of a fever dream from catching a cold, or that he got into some sort of hallucinogen, or that he's been sleeping for days and it was all a sweet, elaborate dream, designed only to make him loathe the reality he would eventually come to. And right now? He sure as hell does. He would like to go back to running around aimlessly in the dim light of his room, carpet sinking between his toes with every spring forward, running away when there's nothing to run from because it's fun. Because he can. And then he could get caught again, could be wrapped in his arms, feel his heartbeat against his back, be scolded only lightly, just enough for him to know that he should be more careful, that he should stop whipping the cold air into his wet hair before the frost cakes the ends of it, and he gets sick. He'd never tell him that his breathing is colder than the chill of the room; he likes the way it nips at his ears. How it freezes the moisture on his cheeks. How it makes his nose numb. He likes the slight burn against his stomach when his hand ghosts over his shirt. Likes how when his chest expands with his breathing he feels that same burn light up all the nerves in his back, one by one, like twinkling fairy lights or sparking candles. Like constellations popping out from the dark. Cold that draws his own warmth forward, breathing that makes his own lungs heave, steady rhythm of his heart that becomes volatile and ruthless, like fire, flames that burn until there's nothing left to burn and then still, still, keep going. He must have known, though. Must have known it made him cold, because he thinks he almost tried to dry his hair for him, or run the warm air over his body, run all the pleasant sting out of him and make a new kind of sting sear at his insides from deep in his stomach-

Before his mind runs off. Before then, let's gather our thoughts. It's dark, it's cold, it's lonely. Lonely, and he thought he tried to keep it from being so, but his sheets are barren, and when he presses a hand to the mattress there's no indent, no warmth. They smell like him, faintly. Just a touch, like spraying water at an arm's length. Not enough. Not enough to be real, and he bunches the sheets between his fingers, tries to cling to the ghost of something he never had, and never knew he wanted, until he woke up and it was already gone.

If a dream is so beautiful that being without it makes tears prickle at your skin, is it really a dream, or is it a nightmare, twisted and cruel and brutal?

Going back to sleep might warp whatever's there into something deeper, and he contemplates it, for a moment. It would be nice to have. All to himself, where no one else would know about it. Something for his heartache, for his troubles. It's selfish of him, and confusing, too. He doesn't feel that way, really, and he shouldn't go chasing paths he's not sure he's willing to follow, or he'll be halfway down the path with no way to turn around and he'll have to dig a new one and create this big, ugly tear in its side, rip up all the grass to expose raw and grainy dirt beneath it. A scar. Deep, and jagged, uneven and raised around the edges. Knotted, big, twisted clumps of grist and his hands would be gritty and stained with the colors the earth would bleed, moist, blackened. And then he'd close his hand, and everything would dissipate, vaporize because he is heat. His heart is savage and malevolent and it does what it wants at the cost of everything, and here, he would have to force it from its cage, wouldn't he? When it's too late. And he would follow his new path, that he tore from the earth, shredded from its rind, and the earth would char beneath the soles of his feet. All of it, dry and cracked and blackened, like coal. No more growth. No more new, because he'd burn the nutrients deep down below, too. All of it, gone. A scar, scorched and carved and permanent. Somewhere, he doesn't know where, but maybe it would be on his own heart, or worse.

Or worse.

So, he won't go back to sleep, then. For the better. But then, what does he do? He doesn't want to move, doesn't want to watch anything, when there's nothing to watch. There's places he'd rather be, but it's not with his friends, right now. Too much. All too much. He doesn't want to be alone, either. There's nothing wrong with being alone, he likes being alone, most of the time, when he's always out with people, where he has no say in what's going on, dragged along by the wrist. It's the empty sheets, isn't it? There was supposed to be someone there. Someone to fill the dull aching in his heart, if only for a night. And, maybe for the next morning, when he was supposed to wake up next to him and remember he wasn't alone.

He's stupid. He's so, so stupid, but he'll look a fool if he doesn't have to spend the next one by himself again.

Karkat: HEY ERIDAN UM

I DON'T REALLY KNOW IF I CALLED YOU OR NOT YESTERDAY BUT

CAN YOU COME OVER?

Biting his tongue, thick muscle curled over the edge of his teeth to stop his breath from seeping through. A clink, from out beyond his door, though everything is meant to be still as his heartbeat. But his heart tears through the sound barrier and reverberates in his walls, parrots back at him, mocking, mocking always. Look at how afraid he is. How his fingers twitch and flutter and how his shoulders tense, how his stomach tightens at the slight nausea. _Look at how afraid he is,_ they laugh, _so fearful that it rings from his chest cavity like a fax machine or a victorian telephone._ _Something loud and unsightly, beastly and unwelcome within his own body. Look at how he lets it run. Look at how it swallows at all it touches until it has consumed everything in its cacophonous wailing. Look,_ they say, _look at how silly he is, to think he could own his mutant heart without it devouring his whole being._

<3: Kar you absolute fiend I'm in th'kitchen

Relief swells in his muscles, in all the empty parts of his chest. Of course, of course. He doesn't know why he failed to have trust in his own memory, but it's not like it amounts to anything, in the end. He's not bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders anymore.

Karkat: OH THANK FUCK

WHY THE HELL AREN'T YOU IN BED?

I SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF MYSELF THINKING I HALLUCINATED SHIT

He paints himself foolish by outing himself. He wouldn't have seen, wouldn't have known. He'll regret it when he comes to, but at the moment he is immersed, and has an antibody against self-awareness.

<3: Wwell Kar I figured you'd like some breakfast y'knoww an' seein' as I wwoke up a feww hours ago I decided t'do some wwork around th'house too

Karkat: YOU FUCKING WHAT

<3: I mean y'cleaned up pretty wwell but I didn't wwant y't'havve t'wworry about dishes or trashes an' I prefer th'sink an' counters clean before I make food anywway

Oh, dear lord,

Karkat: TELL ME YOU HAVEN'T MADE BREAKFAST YET

<3: I havven't, I wwas just about t'start on it Kar but I wwas busy runnin' some laundry

Ohmygod,

Karkat: YOU SOUND SO FUCKING DOMESTIC RIGHT NOW

<3: Sorry Kar

Karkat: IT'S OKAY

IT'S KIND OF CUTE

Cute enough that his heart flits in its cage, that he nips at the tip of his tongue to kill his smile before it can ever be born. He doesn't understand.

UM WE SHOULD ACTUALLY GO OUT FOR BREAKFAST IF YOU'RE OKAY WITH IT

I CAN PAY

His fingers dash off before his common sense can apprehend them. Curses, fucking hell, damnit, curses! The way his pulse races with them, too, will send him to an early grave, where they'll write about how he spoke too quickly and without filter, and, possibly, how it drove Eridan mad enough for him to smite him in his sleep.

<3: Shut th'fuck up Kar I'm fuckin' payin' for breakfast an' if you wwanna go out for breakfast wwe can fuckin' go out I'll fuckin' take you t'th'fuckin' greatest breakfast joint there fuckin' is around here an' I wwon't havve y'eatin' anywwhere a'lesser quality

Karkat: DON'T GET FUCKING PRETENTIOUS ON ME

I MAY NOT BE ABLE TO KEEP YOU FROM PAYING BUT ONE DAY

ONE DAY I'LL GET YOU BACK FOR IT

THAT SOUNDS THREATENING BUT REALLY I JUST WANT TO FEEL LIKE LESS OF A BURDEN AND YOU DESERVE GOOD THINGS I THINK

ANYWAY I HAVE SHIT TO DO TODAY UNFORTUNATELY AND WE SHOULD GO OUT FOR COFFEE

<3: I'm uh

Wwell I'm in th'kitchen but I can alwways pick somethin' up an y'can get a head start on some errands if y'havve stuff t'do in th'house?

It doesn't evven havve t'be official breakfast I can just pick y'up some coffee if y'wwant an' then wwhen it gets t'be like three or somethin' wwe can go out t'eat?

Karkat: WAIT WHAT FUCKING TIME IS IT

<3: It's actually around noon Kar

Wwe'vve got some time t'decide wwhat wwe're doin' t'day before wwe go anywwhere y'knoww?

Uh

I can also make y'some but I mean I havve a car an' I don't think you'll like the blend I'vve got

Karkat: You brought me coffee?

<3: Wwell yeah

But I dunno if it's really your taste

Karkat: You're a fucking dork

You can go pick me up some coffee I guess but when you get back I'll need your help getting some things cleared out of the basement

So if you want to go and eat breakfast or lunch or whatever afterward you might not want to wear anything nice beforehand unless you want to risk it getting all dusty and dirty which I'm sure you won't like

<3: Oh lucky me I'm still in my PJs

I'm an embarrassment t'society

I'vve been awwake for hours an' still I havven't bothered t'change outta my pajamas Kar

It's noon Kar

I'm a filthy fuckin' degenerate

Karkat: Nah

Pajamas are comfier than clothes

And you know, like, I'm also in my pajamas

<3: Yeah but I'm puttin' off wwakin' my brain up t'th'possibility that I'm doin' things t'day

Karkat: I guess

<3: Anywway I'm gonna go get y'your coffee Kar

I'll text y'wwhere I'm at an' ask y'wwhat y'wwant wwhen I'm there okay?

Karkat: Okay

Thanks Eridan

<3: No prob Kar

A sigh that sprouts from beneath his ribs, tangles in his lungs and flowers, there, in dense clusters that hang down like wisteria branches. He settles back into his mattress, wrestling with the thickness of his covers, too, for a moment, until he gets situated.

Soundless weight gunks up the air, packs the room down with frigid temperature. January was supposed to be colder than this. Why, then? Why is the room disarranged and why is it foreign to lay on his back and why, why, does the spot next to him feel abandoned? It's routine. It's been routine for the entirety of his existence and one, one night, one obscure outlier out of every witching hour he's slept through and this is what he's left with. He's sunk into his bed, still, but he fidgets, stiffens while he brawls his inner turbulence. His wool quilt, too, though hefty and thickset, falls short of keeping the chill from his bones. It'll take him a struggle and a half to throw off his sheets.

... But,

Karkat: Wait I wanna go with you

<3: Damnit Kar wwe just decided on somethin'

But I guess I don't mind

Wwould be nice t'havve company wwhile drivvin' y'knoww?

Hurry up an' hop in th'car then you'vve got like twwo minutes before I book my ass outta here t'get y'coffee anywway

Karkat: Yessss

The quilt is a minor inconvenience when his being is filled with vigor and a purpose, though small, though he had one waiting for him already. It's a more favorable purpose. One that isn't taxing or painful, one that has him flinging his door open, heels grinding to spring into a bolt-

<3: Get your shoes on though there's snoww outside

Karkat: Thanks for the warning

Right. Haste will only lead to impetuous decisions, and he'll end up sick. Though, maybe he'll stay longer if-that's selfish of him. He slips his boots on, and yanks a small blanket he'd accidentally flung to the floor out of its place, so he can hurry along before he's left behind.

The wind bites hard enough to shred when it pulls away from his skin and the snow falls in fat, shimmering crystals that shatter when they grace the ground, that powder everything in a cloak of static rain, white noise, ringing bells pulled from a distant memory and glacial cold that sweeps over even the warmest of hearts, the scent of frozen clean and faint pine needles. In a tapioca flurry that whips up icy peaks and fresh dust. Most of it is left untouched, unbroken, with the exception of his footfall, and Eridan's footprints, too, that stretch out to the foot of his car, where he's shucking a thin sheet of ice from his window, audibly. Only his silhouette is noticeable. He navigates through the gray soupiness of the sky until he can. Something is hidden in his other hand, he's bundled in thick padding (good, he's so cold himself,) with a scarf he's never seen before, but looks equally as worn as his old blue one, and twice as long. Enough to drape over his shoulder. It reminds him of the cape he used to wear, when it hangs like that, free and flowing and lashed around in the gale.

"Sorry, just a minute."

"Need any help?"

"No, I'vve got it."

Eridan's breath forms jellied vapor clouds, sticks to the air and even forms a slight frost on his scarf. That cold? It was raining not so long ago. He tilts his hat up over his fogged up glasses and throws his gaze over his shoulder, but his hand stills and his feet swerve his body to face Karkat, mouth quirked into a soft frown.

"Kar, y'barely havve anythin' on!"

He trudges through the snow, closer, to him, and Karkat isn't sure if it's out of anger or curiosity. "You told me you were leaving in two minutes what the fuck was I supposed to do?!"

And then something is shoved to his chest, hand pressing just above his reddening knuckles. He's closer, still, arms almost flat against him, hovering maybe a horn's length away (whose horns? He doesn't know, can't tell,) to where the lilac tinge of his cheeks and deep plum of the tip of his nose are oh, so intimate to his gaze, and still his eyes flicker away from his. How dare he? How dare he make a point to be so near and still avoid his face?! And when his eyes are so vivid and animated, strikingly graphic. What is he afraid of? Is he afraid he'll read him? Or is he disgusted by his image, somehow? He wishes he could figure it out, only, he can't, because he won't let him look directly into them, those emotional, telling eyes. But he's directed instead, to his purpled lips, glistening with just a touch of moisture, or frost, maybe, that move elegantly even in the stiffening cold.

"S'good thing I kneww you'd hurry, or y'd'havve t'go back inside an' get this."

It's terrible of him to think. It is, but he thinks anyway, of what it might be like to kiss them, how pillowy they would feel against his own, the way they'd glide together with every twitch, how they might turn every shade of violet if he pulled them underneath his teeth to nibble on. Ugh, how they'd taste. They'd be a fucking snack, wouldn't they? With how thick and plump they are, how they look softer than freshly steamed pork buns oh fucking hell, shit, _fuck._ His stupid fucking confused brain and his stupid thing for lips and how stupidly close Eridan is, none of it is fair, none of it is _fair-_

"Kar, are y'gonna put it on, or...?"

He gets whiplash when he sees Eridan's eyes veer ever so slightly in his direction, flutters that dance up his spine, and it brings him back to the present moment (though, it's not enough for him to say there's a possibility he's looking at him, and he hates it.) He brings a hand out from the safety of his blanket to wrap it around whatever he might be holding out to him. He, ends up clutching Eridan's hand. Not, a terrible arrangement, but the drunken manner his heart babbles in when Eridan doesn't immediately cower away from him has his cheeks tingling, like spiced cider poured over pop rocks. Eridan draws his hand from his grasp in a languid motion, though Karkat doesn't notice until it's already gone. His knuckles pop as he bunches his hand in a fist.

"I, right. Sorry, sorry."

"S'fine, Kar. Here, wwould y'start the car for me? It'll take a bit t'get toasty in there but it'll certainly be wwarmer than out here in th'cold."

Eridan moves back to the window, the scraper grating against the glass like fuzz against teeth and they both wince. He's glad he's not the one who has to do it, though he wants to help. He pulls the item up to inspect it, instead-

The jacket Eridan drove down here with. He, wore this inside, probably would have put it on himself, if he was going alone. It's a lot puffier than the one he's wearing, he notes-and that one, too, is his jacket, but it's the one Karkat ended up with last time. Is this his way of giving him one? But it's just as worn as the other...

Stupid, fucking, _blood-pusher_ , shut up or he'll hear you.

"... Yeah, sure thing."

Footsteps crunching as he gets far enough away to not be seen, just outside of his peripheral vision (and far away enough to hear a lot less of that grating noise, dear god, it's fucking irritating.) And then, he smooshes the jacket in his face and takes a deep breath in. The scent is still strong, and there's a hefty overtone of mulling spices to it that must be from cooking, along with a smidge of wood and... paint? It's a weird mix of smells, but shit, it works better than anyone could have guessed. He puffs out air, sigh curling into a small smile, shrugs it on underneath his blanket to find it already enveloping him with warmth. He couldn't have kept it this snug for him out here, with how the cold tears through his core. He had to have been wearing it just before he came out.

He's going to fucking die.

He flubs with the car door, to get in, maybe, before he promptly goes into cardiac arrest. Locked. Right, okay, that makes sense, kind of.

"Uh, where are your keys?"

"Oh! Right, uh, th'coat pocket."

He crams his hand into both pockets, but his fingertips brush through something soft? What-oh. His hat, and Eridan's keys bundled inside. How the hell he even found that thing in Karkat's hell-hole of a coat closet is beyond his level of understanding, because Karkat can't tell his head from his ass when he opens it. God, that shit needs some organizing he doesn't have time for right now. Into the car he goes and holy jesus fucking christ his ass is fucking freezing. Thank god for this jacket. Which, he realizes, has something else in the other pocket, so he tugs it out, his own gloves unraveling from the scarf they were swaddled in and falling into his lap. He fucking, planned this from the moment he got up. What a bastard. What a fucking beautiful bastard.

Gloves and hat? On, bitch. Keys in the ignition, cranking those fuckers up like some night club DJ till the car roars and purrs, bathes Eridan in its headlights. He didn't know he'd be right in front of him, and it seems Eridan couldn't have guessed, either, because they both jump back a little. Karkat nervously waves through the window with a tiny, timid smile, Eridan returns it with a wave of his own. He thinks he can see the edges of his lips twitch up just the faintest bit, or maybe it's his imagination. It's out of place, jarring, too. Why?

Tucking his legs up on the seat in order to retreat further into his blanket (and, wrapping his scarf around his neck, as he forgot to do it while outside,) Karkat does nothing more than sit back and watch him work. He's gotten into the rhythm of scraping, figured out a way to get all the ice off without that harsh screech of sharp plastic on glass, and he's attentive, wedges the point of his tool between where the ice and the window are melded together to pry it off. He's more interested in his darkened knuckles, though, how his hands are practically the same shade as his lips. He thought he'd be more careful with himself. Maybe he'll give him his gloves when he-no, no. His fingers are longer than his, they wouldn't fit. He can do more. He can shove them in his coat pockets, or warm them with his own, rub them between his gloves and maybe the friction will bring them back to their natural color. He might keep one for himself, if Eridan can manage without it. Selfish of him, yes. He doesn't know if he'll bother to fix that.

Onto the other half he goes, and Karkat's eyes shift to the inside. He's been in here before, and there's not much to see; it's clean, he doesn't use air freshener, though there's a few cinnamon sticks tied together with a sachet of clove and anise, and there's a bit of loose change and a ballpoint pen in the cupholder. His keychain is this cute little bobbly thing with stars and a constellation, accompanied by his sign. Karkat's happy he can still feel a healthy pride for it. There's also a glass mosaic slime from, he forgot the game? Slime Ranchers? He thinks that's it, but he hasn't played a single player game in a long time. And, an itty, plush hermit crab with a purple shell and full, round eyes, maybe the size of a quarter, if that. It's packed full, barely squishes at all between his fingers. He's curious as to what importance they hold, but it's more likely that he picked them up as they caught his eye, like half of the living collective. Karkat's is just a hoop and a house key on his sad gray lanyard. That's fine, he thinks. He'll keep his eye out for a few good ones, maybe one similar to crabdad.

The heat on the inside is set to 60 but it feels more like -10. Karkat taps the button for the seat warmer, after he manages to find it, and then Eridan's, too, for when he comes in. As much as he'd like to have an excuse to get close, they don't really have time for it. Errands, housework, maybe a few papers to catch up on, too. God, he can't fathom why he's put so much on his own plate. It's all necessary, though he could afford to wait until he has some time off that's not meant for vacation, but he figures if he's got nothing else to do... why not? The sooner he gets them done, too, the more time he can spend free with him, right? Whatever he wants to do. He doesn't care, even if it's some stuffy shit like going to an art museum. He's never been one to stand in a quiet spot and stare blankly into an equally blank canvas that offers nothing but introspection, when he could be enjoying, like, art on the internet. The invention of drawing tablets has improved the quality of his life greatly.

He tried it with Equius once, and then Nepeta. Equius was ever-looming and eerie, getting lost in everything for too long, like he was slipping away into another world through the offered sanctity of the piece. A connection still unbroken when he moved to the next, weaving a twisted chain of portals that threatened to suck you in if you got too close. Terrifying to stand next to. His criticism and thoughtful insight was interesting to listen to, so it wasn't the worst trip he's had. Nepeta, though? Too loud, always bouncing around and exerting an energy and intensity that everyone seemed to part for, that had heads turning and people staring. They weren't being critical in their glares, no, but being the center of attention? In a place built for people to teach themselves how to pay attention? He won't do that again. He adores Nepeta and her bubbly demeanor, but fuck, man. He's not taking Sollux, or Gamzee, who would prefer something interactive, most likely, or Tavros, because he'd be too scared to navigate the museum without clinging to someone's arm. He's gotten a lot better, but his anxiety soars through the roof when there's a crowd of humans, thinking someone will end up throwing a punch at him for being a troll and existing on earth. His fear isn't unfounded.

Would Eridan be exactly like Equius, though, if they went together? Maybe? He always got the feeling that Equius' intentions were to cut through you with his eyes, know every part of your being. Eridan's curiosity always lit up his eyes, made them twinkle when he was observing something. And it was with care, and some sort of whimsy, and the airiness of his fascination would strike flutters in anything he dare to look at. Maybe Karkat's being a fucking dorkus, though. Probably.

He's always been a hard worker, throwing himself into every task with a fervent need to see it come to fruition, so he doesn't doubt he'll be a great help getting things done. He's thought about asking him before, but told himself he'd be busy with other things. Maybe he could help with his coat closet, after everything is said and done-

Eridan could have given Karkat one of his own coats at any time. Could have picked more than one to layer up, too. 

He, hides his smoldering cheeks in his scarf, though Eridan wouldn't be able to see it from his side of the window anyway.

Just in time, too, as the car door opens on the other side, blasts a gust of freezing air in his face, and Eridan hops into the driver's seat, closing the door behind him. He's shuddering, almost quaking with how violently his muscles contract, folding in on himself to hold in body heat. He blows air into his hands but from the way he shivers, it must be cool air, and he ends up shoving them between his legs. Nuh-uh, not today. It's go time.

"Hey, can I see those for a second?"

"See, wwhat?"

"Your hands."

Eridan's probably giving him-or, uh, the dashboard, more likely, a quirked eyebrow or two underneath those frozen lenses. "Sure."

He pulls them out for him and Karkat doesn't leave a single second left for the chill to get to them when he shoots for his hands like a mantis shrimp on a fucking mission to kill. He vigorously rubs his hands over them until the fabric of his gloves starts to chew away at his skin, gives him rugburn that'll leave them raw and fleshy. But, now that he's got a closer look at Eridan's hands, he sees the cuts and scrapes, some fresh and new and still bleeding, some a little older, perhaps.

"What in the hell did you even do with these?"

"Oh. I wwas wworkin' on my shed yesterday, an' then th'ice is pretty damn sharp. Got some splinters in 'em an' had t'pull 'em out. I forgot t'change my bandages after I wwoke up an' took 'em off, I guess."

"Why in the-you know what? At least you made the effort to clean them up. Can you do me a favor and wear gloves next time, please? They don't even have to be thick ones, they just have to protect your hands from shit like that."

"I uh, sure, Kar, if it makes y'feel better about it."

"Thank you."

He turns them over a few times, just to make sure he's, seeing them right. They practically make a hand of their own, with how many he has right now, they're so torn up. What was he thinking? Did he somehow think the wood would be merciful? Did he think the ice was going to yield so easily? He's definitely not as careful as he previously credited him, if he's so careless, but Karkat isn't in a place to judge, he supposes. It must be painful. Did he not feel it, then? Did the cold numb them enough for him to work with them? Now he feels bad for being so aggressive with them, he could have ripped something open.

He, reluctantly drops them back in Eridan's lap once he sees they've returned to their normal color, and goes searching through his glove box. There! That pair. He chucks them at him, and they hit his cheek with a soft 'pap'! Utterly mortified (because who wouldn't be,) he makes a move to apologize, but nothing comes. His cheeks are even darker than his hands were, nose and fins dusted in little flakes of snow that he didn't catch. He grunts. How is he supposed to move his mouth like that?

"Uh, excuse me for a second, here."

"Wwh-"

He cups his cheeks in his mittened paws and kneads his fingers gently into them, watching them smoosh and lighten under his touch. They're so fucking cold, but they're really soft, and kinda chubby, like puffy little popcorn cheeks. They tense with the third or fourth press of his fingers, however, and so do his neck, shoulders, and his jaw muscles. Looking away, again. Always. Just once, Eridan? One look? No? Okay. Fine. That's cool. He'll get it one day.

"... Oh. Okay."

Ah, yes. Doing things on impulse means forgetting to take into account that Eridan might be... uncomfortable. "Sorry, I can-"

"No, feels nice." In fact, he's leaning into his touch (though if he pointed it out, Eridan would do his best to bolt as far away from him as he could manage before he eventually killed himself out of exhaustion.) He fucking, adores the way his cheeks cushion and pool slightly, how fluid they are. He keeps his eyes closed. He thinks he prefers that over avoidance, that maybe it's a sign of comfort and when he opens them he'll be looking right at him. His thoughts sound, super gay. He promises it's just overwhelmingly strong pale feelings that untether themselves from their leashes and stalk at the edges of his thoughts, that shred at his heart until it bleeds red.

He doesn't want to dig that path. He's counting on walking the right path, the first time, so he'll stall at the threshold until he's thrown into the momentum of his true desires, the ones that will eventually lead to happiness. Hopefully. He's not sure becoming a therapist was the greatest idea his heart has ever had.

So, before he can become unfaithful to its longing, he removes his hands. And then it screams at him to put them back, howls of his betrayal, of his mutiny. Put them back. Put. Them. _Back._ A refusal is only futile if Eridan asks for them, so he'll beat at it until it cowers away and hides in its hole, until he can sweep it back into its box and lock it with every lock he can pick from his brain. Stupid little heart. You are running with the wolves, with the beasts that dwell in the inked outreaches of his being, and he won't allow you to persist. He won't let you become the solar storm you're destined to be. Not yet, at least. Not until you can eat every wretched monster and still believe wholeheartedly that you've always been one of them, and their desires were always yours.

"Thanks Kar."

"No prob."

It retreats as Eridan gloves up, and he sighs in relief. He's won a very small battle, and maybe he'll be less stupid and weirdly touchy, now. He tucks the corner of his blanket in so that he's bundled properly, and stares into the emptiness of the snowstorm. As blank and as empty as all of those art museum paintings that never meant anything to anyone, except for maybe Equius, and everyone else who longs to lose themselves in the nothingness.

"Y'can take a little nap if y'wwant."

"Nah."

"Y'sure? Y'look tired."

He is, but he'll miss his opportunity if he goes to sleep. "I'll be fine."

"Okay, Kar."

He can't miss a single moment when he has so few of them, with him.

Eridan backs out of the driveway and everything is bumpy and rough, but it's fine. The road is plowed and he can let the scenery whisk him away then, if need be. It does jolt his heart into a shaky little corner of bolts and wheels, things that aren't put together but are still bouncing and flying anyway. Don't get stuck here, please. Let him have this morning drive.

But they're free, and then he sighs, and Eridan does, too, giggling only at the end. Karkat can't help chuckling along.

"Y'knoww I really should'vve shovveled the drivvewway before I drovve outta there."

"Who cares?"

"I mean it'll be hard t'get back in."

"I guess you're right, but do you really want to bother with it?"

"Ah, not, not really."

They glide over the weathered asphalt, working with the winter winds as they drive away and into the city. Every moment feels like almost home. The feeling you get when you're on the last light before you hit the turn for your neighborhood, or when you see your driveway at the end of the road. Almost home. He blames it on weird mind beasts. He doesn't know yet. He doesn't know, yet.

"Hey Eridan?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Hold off on that 'till y'get some coffee in your system."


	10. Late Night, Early Morning

What if he dies like this and no one knows?

He knew better than to stay up past Eleven PM and now it's his own fault the searing, squeezing pain spreads from the left side of his breast like frostbite, like cold, creeping morning glory twisting its vines through his muscles in corkscrews, knotting itself together in big clumps of tension. His pulse throbs like thunder, in his side, in his arm, up his shoulder and his neck and every thump to his brain causes his vision to lose focus, fuzz up like the static on an old cathode ray tube television and then the static joins in the thunder, prickles and needles and why, why? The blood flowing in his arteries slows as his muscles constrict them. He can feel the way they tighten and tense with every labored breath into his burning lungs, it aches, it aches, and now the right side of his neck, too, and the pounding makes its way through his horns and to the tips of his ears and fins. It's not a heart attack, he knows it's not, that it's just panic, that it'll all go away if he takes a few slow, deep breaths, but as soon as the air hits the bottom of his lungs it forcefully blasts its way out of his body as if someone had dropped a thick slab of stone onto his chest and all the splinters of his ribs punctured holes in them.

Restless. Restless, blind, and terrified out of his mind, his right hand grabs at the empty space in the mattress next to him with the desperation of a man about to lose his life. It always feels like he's about to die. Every time, Every single time and still, here he is, and where the hell is his phone, where the _hell_ is his phone-

There. His nails scratch at the textured plastic of his case and he jerks it to his chest so fast there's an almost hollow echo as he clubs his sternum with it.

Why put him through the pain when he could just die?

His finger barely taps the power button and the white light of his screen pierces through the darkness, through his eyes, blades dig into the back of his sockets and it burns _worse_ and why did he ever decide to go through with this idea? The letters and numbers blend in with his background and nothing makes sense and every attempt he makes at putting in his passcode ends in failure. Fuck, _fuck._ Just one more, please, one more time before he's locked out for another five minutes-

There. Finally. Now, who to call, if anyone at all. Maybe he should take the risk and drive himself to the hospital, but when it's scary like this, it's hard to think right, and he knows, he _knows_ it's just panic-

Karkat.

No, _no,_ he doesn't know what time it is or what he's doing and Karkat doesn't want to be bothered with him, but it's not his choice, is it?

Because his body, wracked with tremors and pain, and, and, and-

_"Hello?"_

A solitary voice cuts through the pain and all he feels is _Karkat._

A moment, just to breathe, a deep breath in, a long heave out, and then another, and another, until he's breathing normally for a few breaths, and then a few more, and he's freaking him out, some stranger over the phone breathing heavily with no other indication there's anyone on the other end. He doesn't inquire, just sits there in his own silence, waiting for him to come out of his panic. It's, well, it's progress, but Karkat isn't speaking and his voice isn't there to tell the pain to go away and it comes back, suffocating him, all of his efforts start unraveling, something, something has to come out, before he can't get it out anymore-

"Kar, I'm, I'm real sorry for callin' this late but-"

_"Eridan? Are you okay?"_

The question always rips the self-control and composure from him, moreso when it's _him,_ when it's said like _that,_ with concern and care and just a little bit of a quaver and how, how is his heart still beating, with the way he says his name?

Eridan can hear the shifting of fabric and a tap on the microphone as Karkat sits up, and he follows lead, pressing his back against the headboard of his bed. Karkat's breathing, then, and he matches pace. A few small noises, he thinks, maybe he's drinking something, but then it's apparent they're noises of worry. Those noises are a sledgehammer to the wall holding it all in and so everything slips freely.

"I ain't, feelin' so good, is all. Can't get t'sleep."

_"Yeah?"_

"Uh, yeah."

No response this time. Of course, of course he bothered him, of course he was sleeping, of course he was stupid to be making this call but he can't hang up now, not when he can almost feel him here, the ghost in his covers turned to him, staring at his cheek as Eridan focuses on the sea urchin shell sitting on the desk at the opposite end of the room, hand moving to rest on his shoulder. He made a mistake. The call will end and that ghost will fade away and he'll be left with regret and everything he wanted to avoid by making this call. The bial cutting rings in his throat as it moves to sting at his tongue leaves a sour, acidic taste in his mouth.

"I, I can hang up if y'wwant-"

_"No no!!! Uh, no, that's okay, I think I'd rather have you stay on the line, if that's alright with you?"_

He's only worried about him, right. Fair. If Karkat had called him like this, he would have wanted him here until he was done with it, regardless of whether or not he was doing something else. But it's _Karkat._ Anyone would want him on the phone. He wonders if Karkat realizes he could be doing anything else right now.

He wonders when he's gonna be told to fuck right off.

"Oh! Uh, a'course, Kar, thank y'for lettin' me talk t'y'cause I knoww y'need th'sleep."

_"No prob, I think I kinda need this too."_

Need, this?

_"Haven't really got to hear your voice in a while, you know?"_

Oh.

Oh no.

"O, Oh, wwell I, I guess you're right, huh? Sorry, I meant t'call more often, but I figured y'wwere busy."

_"I was, but I would have made time."_

Needs this. Misses his voice. Would have gone out of his way to give him just a few minutes. Why? Why, when he doesn't deserve it, but god does it fill his body cavity with sweet, syrupy warmth that chases away the dread and cold of the dark. Karkat. Karkat, telling him these things, Karkat saying _here, Eridan, don't go, I know you called so early in the morning I would have eaten you alive if you were anyone else but I want you here, I'm glad you called,_ and even if it's all a lie he's telling himself, or some cruel, disgusting act of trickery being played on him by his own head, he'll take it. It feels good. Feels nice, to be needed, and to be needed by him.

"Yeah?"

_"Yeah."_

Talking is hard at night, they both know it. No one ever expects it to be this hard to keep things going, even when they want to keep things going, want to sit and listen for hours without ever retaining anything because the only thing that matters is that they're there, together, but here's the thing, it does matter, and they can't go for hours, and if they don't find something to say soon, if Eridan doesn't find something to say soon, the moment will slip through his fingers and he'll have nothing left to get him through the night.

"I uh, huh, I guess I nevver thought about wwhat I'd do if y'picked up or, kept me on th'line. Noww I feel pretty awwkwward 'cause this wwas, my idea."

_"Pfft, you're a dork. I don't mind sitting here in silence, if that's what you need."_

"I dunno if I wwanna havve th'silence there."

_"Neither do I, but I think I can manage it if you're here. I can totally put on some background music or something if you want though."_

"I, Kar I don't mean t'sound like a fool or nothin' like that but y'do realize that's real fuckin' cheesy a'y'right?"

_"How the hell is it cheesy? And you know what, maybe I'm a sucker for cheese, Eridan, maybe I have an insulated purse full of fucking cheese that I tote around just so I can shove cheese in my gullet at any given moment with convenience. Maybe my only goal in life is to live and breathe cheese, Eridan, ever thought about that?"_

He never forgets how much he adores his stupid banter, but he doesn't realize how happy it makes him until he's seeing or hearing it for himself.

"Alright, alright, y'can put th'damn music on, Kar."

_"Yesssssssss"_

More shuffling, and a few bumps, something is knocked over and Karkat curses softly in his slightly gravelly voice, gruff and hissed out in frustration. Noise as he struggles and claws around for what he's looking for and thumps as he hits his paw against what's most likely the hard wooden plane of his nightstand. He can see it, the way he stretches out to it, slightly hunched even as he's reaching in order to keep himself centered on the bed, labored breathing as he's straining at the effort. If he were there, he'd help. It would be easy for him, for him to just reach over and swipe it up and watch Karkat grumble at Eridan for not doing it sooner and having Karkat make an absolute fool of himself. The cutest fool. Always. Everything he could ever dream of, a home he wants more than anything else, but will never have. A click as he taps harshly on a button and some soft ambient music melts its way between them. Karkat huffs proudly, shuffles his way back over to his spot on the bed, and pulls his phone up to his ear, the mic making some feedback noise as it moves through the air.

_"There, back. Sorry, fuck, why do I keep it that far away from me?"_

"Dunno, but that's your fault."

_"Don't lecture me ;-;"_

"Alright, I'll lay off your poor ass for a bit, I mean y'did just expend a wwhole lotta vvaluable labor just t'givve me a bit a'added comfort."

Karkat continues to get settled in, Eridan finding it difficult to keep the phone pressed to his ear in a way that isn't hurtful. The small bit of added pain is worth the trouble, though. Anything for this.

And then he registers what Karkat said earlier about the purse thing, and, he wonders.

"... Please tell me y'don't carry around a fuckin' cheese tote, Kar."

_"If I did would you be disappointed in me?"_

"Only a little but actually I'd be more concerned about your health an' wwell-bein' Kar 'cause that sounds like botulism wwaitin' t'happen an' I wwon't havve it, Kar."

_"So, if I told you, that I did have one, that would be bad, right?"_

"... Kar?"

_"Eridan answer the question."_

"It wwould be, _alarmin'_ Kar an' I dunno howw I'd feel about it."

_"Then I don't have one."_

"That's not exactly reassurin' considerin' y'wwere askin' like y'had one an' y'wwere debatin' on wwhether or not t'tell me."

_"HmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmMMMMM"_

"I'm gonna assume y'havve one anywway an' advvise against its use in th'future an' y'knoww wwhat Kar frankly I'm wworried about your life choices. I mean you're still on th'phone wwith-"

_"SHUT UP THAT'S THE BEST FUCKING LIFE CHOICE I'VE EVER MADE don't you fucking dare Eridan I'll come over there and KICK YOUR ASS do you hear me I may have a little pissbrain made out of pea milk and grub jelly but I know when something is absolute BULLSHIT I make great life decisions regarding my choices in friends and who I decide to hang out with at any given time and no amount of nook kissing is ever going to change that. Go shove your own bulge down your throat right the fuck now if you decide to argue with me further on this point do you hear me Eridan??? I better fucking hear you choking like a little whore slut if you even fucking trY IT-"_

The hiss in his voice turns from irritation to, something else? What is that? It's slightly sultry, and a bit of a growl, too, and he thinks maybe Karkat is about to lose himself in some weird pitch fantasy going on inside his head he's deciding to vocalize. Holy shit, what if he inter- absolutely not, he won't go there today, and he'll put a firm stop to this before his own mind chases itself into corners it shouldn't be entering.

"Kar."

_"Sorry, I... look, Eridan, seriously, I enjoy talking to you, damnit, and I hate hearing from you that your company is a poor life choice when it is literally all I crave."_

_'When it is literally all I crave.'_

It echoes and swells and flows like warmed honey just underneath his skin, coating him in beautiful, genuine feeling that will twist and bitter as soon as he's given a few minutes alone with it. Everything turns caustic in the end, but right now, it's melting the tension in his muscles and he feels breathless.

"Wwhat"

_"NOTHING so like, I'm gonna take my cheese with me and you can't stop me. That's what I've decided now."_

"Okay Kar but, that's actually the wworst decision I'vve evver heard you'vve made."

_"Alright, how about this for compromise? There is no compromise, I continue to tote around my cheese like the tiny little heathenous gremlin I am, and there is nothing you can do to stop my terrible train of life choices, except for come over here yourself and follow me around, everywhere, to make sure I don't have my cheese bag."_

"Kar, are y'tryin' t'tell me somethin'? 'Cause you'd probably be better off just bein' upfront wwith my idiot ass."

_"I'm not saying anything, I'm only throwing ideas out there for you to consider, Eridan, and you know what? Maybe you should consider them. I think it would be a great idea."_

"Kar I don't think you'd really wwanna havve me around EVVERYWWHERE."

_"Do you understand how wrong you are? Do you even know?"_

"Not really."

_"Well you little bastard boy, get your ass over here tomorrow and I'll show you exactly how wrong you are."_

He says bastard boy in a cutesy tone, almost flirtily? In such a way that it makes the elbow he was propped up on buckle and he smacks his horn against the hard wood. Thank god he bit his tongue before he yelped like some tortured puppy, though when he brushes the tips of his fingers just over the impact zone, the pain doubles and he winces, has to bite harder. Any harder and he'll bleed, and maybe he's imagining it, but is that blood on his horn, too? He'll take care of it later. Karkat said tomorrow?

"T'morroww? Don't y'havve wwork that day?"

_"Nope, I don't, but actually I think I'm hanging out with Tavros the first part of the day. We'll be done before two in the afternoon though."_

"Hmm, wwouldn't y'rather havve th'wwhole day t'spend wwith-"

_"Shut the fuck up, before you spew more bullshit, I just asked you to come down here, so do it because I fucking miss your ass okay?"_

Misses him. Doesn't matter how many times he says it, it's just as beautiful and unbelievable every single time, and he can barely handle himself. So he'll yield. Just a bit, for Karkat, tonight. If it's what Karkat wants, what he needs. Anything for Karkat.

"... Okay."

_"Good. You're always so hesitant to do anything with me and honestly I hope that's not a me problem. How the hell do I reassure you that I want you around, dickass?"_

"I, I dunno. I'vve nevver really, had anyone wwant me around before, y'knoww?"

And he's still not sure why Karkat wants to keep him around. Whether it be for selfish reasons (which would be completely warranted, he thinks, considering how selfish Eridan can be,) or whether it be for Eridan's sake, or neither or both, a reason is a reason and that boggles the absolute shit out of him. Anyone being able to imagine a reason to want to put up with him is someone who cares enough to give Eridan a space in their head, even if only for a moment.

But Karkat, he's quiet, eerily so, and there's another shift of his blanket before he almost whispers to himself.

_"... Sorry, I kind of, keep forgetting about that."_

"No, it ain't your fault, Kar."

_"I just, like, kind of expected people to actually hang out with you and shit. I mean that's what they're doing with Vriska, right?"_

He won't lie, he's more than bitter. For Vriska to have received chance after chance to prove herself and to be excused for her abuse and all of that, _shit,_ and Eridan to have been given less than nothing? God, it's the worst, and that's why maybe, he thinks, he would have had to have been worse.

Worse than an abuser. Worse than someone who lied, cheated, and stole from her friends, someone who manipulated them, someone who killed and paralyzed the people she was closest to. Yeah, of course that's him. He's already come to terms with that. So why does it still hurt?

"Vvris also apparently did a bunch of heroic shit I don't knoww about because I wwas dead."

Because he should have died. Because it's what he deserved.

"Y'think I should'a stayed dead, Kar?"

Some nights, he truly believes he was better off being destroyed in a dream bubble.

_"Ah, it's one of those nights."_

"Maybe."

And somehow, the filter and static of the mic and the connection fade into the background with the music and he's hearing Karkat as if he's talking into his ear, right next to him, like if he reached over with his hand, he'd find another to hold.

"I was, pretty fucking terrified that I'd never see you again, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I saw most people come back to life and I was pretty excited to hear you were a sprite, but then you, never really came back."

"Wwell I suppose I got wwhat I deservved, huh?"

"I was pretty sure you didn't even make it into a dream bubble. Or that yours had been destroyed. Or, something. Like, I thought I'd come out of this game and you wouldn't be there, and the last words I ever said to you-"

Everything he deserved, and they burn, still, and they continue to burn every day, and he'll carry them with him until he makes it to his grave. He'd carve them into his skin if he thought it would help to embed it forever in his memory, but he doesn't need to when he can already see them written there, in glowing white ink, toxic and vitriolic and sharp as ever, and every time he looks at his arm, without fail, the heartbreak crushes everything it can get his claws on and he's left to pick up the pieces. He'd see them as the gray of his trollian handle if only the anger in them wasn't so apparent. He wants to peel his skin from his body.

"Nuh-uh, wwe're not goin' dowwn that road t'night, Kar."

"They were TERRIBLE."

"Kar."

"Eridan I know I was angry and afraid and pissed and all of that other bullshit but I didn't really _mean_ it, I was,"

"Kar."

"I was, I was so overwhelmed and then I guess everything just _happened,"_

"It wwas my fault, Kar, an' y-"

"Eridan PLEASE."

And he hears it here, too, and so he stops his train of _Karkat, please stop it, for your sake, for mine,_ and he bumps his head yet again, and this time he's sure it's bleeding. He'll have to hide it with something, maybe makeup, before he heads over.

"I know you lashed out and you totally did kill Feferi and that's awful and all, but every single time I think back on it I realize more and more that while it was wrong, it might not have been completely and totally unwarranted. And it definitely wasn't a surprise, either! Or at least, it shouldn't have been."

.

What.

"Wwhat in th'evverlovvin' fuck d'y'mean by that Kar?"

"I, you know what, I shouldn't have said anything and I think I'll just drop it for now but I wish more people gave you an opportunity to at least _talk_ about what happened. It's not like they're obliged to or anything but I mean. Vriska. VRISKA, Eridan."

There is nothing Karkat has been more wrong about, surely. Eridan's punishment was duly delivered; everyone in the room would have agreed, if they'd had the chance to get a word in themselves, and why is Karkat suddenly questioning his earlier convictions?

"Yeah, so?"

"You are clearly not getting what it is I'm saying."

"Ain't it obvvious Kar? I mean I'm a bit a'a dumb fuck."

"Eridan."

"Sorry."

"It's, okay. I'm sorry too. I can get a little carried away with shit."

"Me too, Kar. It's fine."

It's not. It isn't fine, but it's not his fault, is it?

They give the tension some time to dissolve in the music, and he swears, the way Karkat brushes his hand over his sheets feels like he's looping his arm around his waist. He doesn't know whether to be resentful of his inability to feel it or grateful that he isn't there to destroy his dignity in front of his best friend. What would he do, if it happened? Would he finally snap? Would he turn to him and pull him back under the covers and tug him closer by the hips as he kissed him goodnight?

Karkat, luckily, breaks the thought train before it passes the next stop.

"So,,,"

"Uh, yeah Kar?"

"April is coming up."

"... And?"

"I, I mean, what are you planning on doing for your 11th sweep?"

His... What the fuck is he talking about? His Eleventh sweep isn't for...

"Kar."

"What?"

"My 11th swweep ain't 'till Novvember 29th. Wwhere did y'get th'idea that it wwas as soon as April, Kar?"

Is that more cursing he hears?

"Oh, mygod I am terrible at math."

"Ain't yours in April a'next year though?"

And even more cursing, and he hears Karkat leave the bed and oh god why did he even say anything? Please, come back, he can't do this alone, it's too much, it's-

"God fucking DAMNIT you're right! Shit!"

Ah, a shout from across the room. He's checking his calendar, or, at least, the one he has in his room. Why does he have four calendars? He'll never know, but it's interesting to see all of the notes he leaves on them in scribbly red pen and gray pencil, some tiny, some so big they take up two rows of calendar squares, and all over the calendar, in the margins, over the month and the days and outside the lines and running onto the sticky notes he tacks to the edge of the paper so he can write more. He scribbles down notes like he doesn't have a mind to remember with. It's good for Eridan, though, as curious as he is, when he wants to get a look into Karkat's head, even though trying to decipher a page is like asking for someone to whisk his brains into a fluffy, foamy gel.

"Kar you're th'fuckin' cutest thing sometimes."

"I, guess we have a while to plan what we're doing, then?"

... What they're doing? He'll spend his eleventh sweep with him? But it's not like Karkat won't have other things going on, then, right? He'll have more time off as it's the holidays, sure, and that's time he could be giving to other things, and maybe he didn't hear him right, but he'll respond in kind.

"Y'really are thinkin' 'bout plannin' somethin' this early in th'year for Novvember, Kar?"

"I don't know, I think it'd give us the opportunity to make it really nice, and maybe we could make our plans longer than just a day or two, if you'd like?"

For longer. For _longer,_ than a day. Not just the day of his eleventh, but maybe the day before, and the day before that, and Karkat's making it sound like this is some sort of anniversary date- no. That's Eridan's mushy, ill-practiced quadrant brain. That's what's gotten him into every mess he's ever been in. But that much time with Karkat, for this?

"Y, Yeah, yeah, okay, wwe'll think about that, don't wwanna hog y'too much though-"

"Eridan, shut the fuck up, hog the SHIT out of me. I am giving you full permission right now to just tug me away from anything and everything at any given time. Do you even understand? I could be in the middle of skiing or some shit and you could wait for me at the middle of the mountain and yell at me to get my ass over there and I would, and then I'd pack my shit up and follow you. Steal me away, thieve me all you want, goddamnit Eridan I want your friendship"

There's little bursts of feeling in his chests, like overfilling a water balloon and having it pop and splash pleasant, balmy liquid all over his insides, that seeps through his skin and swaddles him in a snug blanket of affection.

"Kar I adore y'but I ain't wwillin' t'make people mad ovver-"

"I am though. I am so willing it's not even funny. If there's a choice between listening to their dusty asses and spending time with you I'm gonna fucking pick you even if it pisses them the fuck off. They demand every bit of my attention and I want you to do the same."

"Kar."

"What?"

"Be reasonable, you'd hate it if I did that all th'time."

"You still have my permission, because I know you'll use it wisely, okay? I would not hand this to someone like Terezi."

"That's fair, Kar."

A long pause. Nothing that isn't bridged by song or breath, but a pause all the same, that gives him an opportunity to reflect on everything, one he chooses not to take, in favor of getting lost in the soft ebb and flow of Karkat's breathing. It's so calming, so pleasant, and remembering the way it feels against his own chest sparks a pang in his gut, but warm contentment, too. He shouldn't be so happy, and he isn't as happy as he would like to be. He doesn't deserve it, and he thinks it so much, he does, and he says it so much to himself and he knows it gets old but he doesn't deserve happiness, or Karkat, or this moment, but he has it anyway,

And it makes him all the more content for it. 

He sighs, high on the waves of feeling Karkat never seems to stop giving him. "Y'knoww, th'music makes itself a part a'th'silence, after a wwhile."

"Maybe for you, but it's like, blasting in my room, so."

"No it ain't Kar, it's probably mid-vvolume at most. I knoww y'hate loud noises."

"I may hate them but sometimes blowing my eardrums out is a lot easier than dealing with my own bullshit thoughts."

"Y'stop callin' my ass out right th'fuck noww Kar it ain't funny."

"You'd probably cry if you had your music above half volume."

"No I wwouldn't!"

"Yeah you wooooouuuuuld.~"

"Nuh."

"Yuh.~"

"Nnnuh"

"Yyyyyyyuuuuuuuuuuuh~"

"I ain't goin' back an' forth like this forevver 'cause then I'll fall asleep in th'middle a'our convversation but no, I wwouldnt."

He totally would.

"Okay, new conversation;"

He hears him shift around until he's on his stomach, probably kicking his legs in the air, hears the way he traces his finger over his pillow. He bets his hair is a mess. He, hopes he's showered? Karkat isn't the best at it but he's also not the worst, having to shower every morning for work, and before he hangs out with friends. If that gremlin was left to his own devices like Eridan, though, he would probably never shower again, instead choosing to go absolutely fucking feral and only come out of his room for food and whatever else he could bring into it. Does Eridan really care, though? Yes, he does, because that _feels_ gross, and he'd chase Karkat into the shower with an entire bottle of Dawn dish soap in order to scrub off months' worth of built up grime. But even as a stale gremlin, he'd be a cute gremlin. Always.

He hopes he's clean right now. Soft, fluffy hair, a little cold from the way it was dried in the frigid air, ruffled from the way he was tossing and turning in bed, clothes misaligned and bunched in weird places because for some reason, Karkat can get himself into the weirdest of positions. Maybe he showered before he threw himself into his covers, maybe he smells like musk and Irish Spring and applewood smoke, maybe he smells like that sweet marshmallow pumpkin body lotion he keeps under the counter. Maybe it's just a little stronger on the more tender patch of skin on his neck. Elbows propped on his pillow, phone pressed to his ear. He probably looks like a teenage girl gossiping on the phone to her friends.

"What's your favorite type of ass?"

And this gossiping teenage girl has backed him into a corner.

He chokes a bit, stutters and trips on his own tongue, before rushing out a panicked _"Kar!"_ Why? Why has this question been tacked to the discussion board? Is there no peace for him? Betrayal.

"Oh fuck off, I'm kind of curious and we both know we don't have a whole lot to talk about unless we wanna catch up on everything we've been doing and wouldn't you rather save that for when you come over tomorrow because you're doing that??"

Aha, see, this topic is sketchy, because he can't answer truthfully without completely destroying his image, and so he should hold his tongue. It's also something he's not willing to think about on the phone with _Karkat,_ for. Reasons. But interrogation won't work on him, at least, not in this moment, and he can _taste_ the cockiness in his voice, sharp in a sweet way but only for a little bit, like watermelon sour patch. Would his tongue taste the same? Maybe, his lips?

He runs the sharp edge of his teeth over his own lips, careful not to bite down as he thinks there's _gotta be a way_ to turn this conversation in a different direction, before he's forced to tell him what he really thinks. "Hmmmmmbut-"

"Mmmmmbut you know I'm right, huh?"

"Yeah but I don't wwant y't'be Kar damnit." Right about, of course, wanting to catch up face to face, to have something to talk about when he gets there instead of sitting there like some dumb goldfish with a 6 second memory staring at Karkat until he smacks his cheek so hard it bruises violet for weeks.

"Come on, we can even get coffee."

Coffee. He's now aware that there's a _reason_ he was in panic, and all of this could have been avoided if only he didn't drink caffeine. Stupid piece of shit body, and now that he's put on the spot he curses his terrible life choices, but it was _so good,_ and nice and warming when his body was frozen enough to snap at the joints like thin, brittle icicles, and maybe it was worth it, but not really, because he's cold again, now that he's sitting outside his covers, and maybe he should slink back in and count his blessings, including the ones that are him not having a heart attack.

"Oh goddamnit a'course I can't sleep I had some tea before bed an' noww evverythin's gone t'shit."

"You, can't have tea before bed."

"Kar y'don't really knoww th'specific nature a'wwhat's affectin' my dysfunctional ass sack a'flesh."

"No I don't. Again, now that we're back on the topic of ass, spill it Ampora gimme the goods I want that Classified Info right the fuck now what ass makes you wanna give it a good fucking smack?"

It sure is classified information, and it should probably stay that way.

"Stop bein' a raunchy little gremlin y'piss-mouthed weasel an' go build your ferret's nest outta th'trash y'keep pilin' up in th'corner a'your room."

"Come oooooooooon I have no ideas and I wanna KNOW"

That cutesy, pouty tone wrenches his stubborn will from him and he begs, pleads with himself not to give in, but he opens his mouth anyway and everything in him mourns the loss of the barrier it had earlier to protect him from such a thing.

"FINE. I like a guy wwith a big ass y'fuckin' dipshit are y'happy noww?"

"No, there's multiple kinds of 'big ass', what kind?"

There was no hesitation, no time wasted in prodding him for _more,_ the horse is already dead, why beat it, Karkat, and the worst part is that as he beats that dead horse it'll talk to him just the way he wants it to, but in a last ditch attempt to get him to quit it, he quips back with words that leave an acrid aftertaste in his mouth, on the tip of his tongue, and he _hates_ it.

"FUCKIN'- I dunno wwhy I'm entertainin' this thought. I shoulda kept my filthy gobber shut an' noww lookit wwhere I'vve got myself. Havvin' t'answwer a question 'bout wwhether or not a big ass alone constitutes th'urge a'smackin' it. Ain't it enough that it's nice an' big?"

"No."

Nothing is ever enough, nothing he does, nothing he says, and this is no exception, and now that he thinks on it, Karkat is getting exactly what he asked for.

Oh, how he dreads his reaction.

A deep, labored breath, full of his grievances for something he hasn't said yet, and then it falls from his lips, hasty and sharp. "Wwell not t'be a massivve nook kissin' prick or nothin' Kar but if y'like t'havve your ego's fat ass bulge stroked t'all hell wwhy don't y'look in th'damn mirror at your owwn ass for an example a'wwhat kind a'ass is th'fuckin' perfect kind a'ass?"

A pause as Eridan is choking on suspense, waiting for the 'what the fuck is wrong with you' to happen, or for Karkat to hang up, or something, something-

"God you don't have to be so fucking aggressive about getting me off your back, but, like, I guess that burn was fair."

"Kar."

"What?"

"I'm ain't fuckin' usin' some sarcastic bullshit on y'for shits an' giggles."

It's one of the few things he could never find it in himself to be sarcastic about, for if he could, he would have been just now. Maybe he should have let him believe that's what it was, and now that he's cleared it up for him, he has to firmly stick by his position, for the both of them.

"Wait."

He's trying.

"You,"

Yes?

"really like my ass?"

Oh, the way his blood scorches underneath his skin, the way his cheeks smolder and light like glowing hot embers, how his heart swings itself around so carelessly and frantically, flipping through the spaces in his ribs. Hands itch, fins sear at the tips, nervous bubbles popping in his lungs just as his jaw pops when it clenches. It would be so plush under his palms, so squishy and smooshy and nice and round. Pillowy, maybe. The best kind of soft, plump, with slight resistance. The sound it would make if he smacked his hand against it, the way it would jiggle like flan for seconds afterward. The way it might feel against his lap.

Oh, ‘really like’ doesn’t even begin to cover half of it. If he got permission to cup it, even once, if there was anything he could give to have a chance...

It’s embarrassing, what he’d do to have that ass.

"Shut th'fuck up Kar you're th'one wwho asked an' y'got th'uncomfortable honesty y'wwere askin' for!! It ain't my fault I'm tellin' th'damn truth!!"

"But like, _my_ ass though."

Oho, 

"Yeah?"

 _only_ his ass.

"You stare at it long enough to form an opinion on it."

Way too long.

"Wwell wwhen you're bendin' ovver t'movve boxes an' shit it's kinda an inevvitability ain't it?"

The scars he had to bite into his tongue to get himself to control himself, to look away. There’s slight indents, some lacerations are still healing. He can almost taste the blood.

"Do you, stare longer than you're supposed to?"

Oh yeah.

"Wwhat th'fuck kinda question is that Kar wwhat th'hell am I supposed t'say t'that?? If y'must knoww I try t'be as respectful an' thoughtful as possible wwhen it comes t'lookin' too close at y'Kar 'cause I knoww howw uncomfortable my lookin' at people can make 'em. Ain't nobody gotta tell me twwice t'look awway anymore an'-"

"Doesn't answer my question."

"... I mean I might'vve done it once or twwice, but I havven't really done it since I wwas-"

Six sweeps. Everything ended at six sweeps. Sometimes he got a dream bubble to indulge in, with some apparition or even, on his luckiest days, which were far and few-no. No need to think about that, not too hard.

"N, Nevvermind that, noww. Y'got your damn answwer, I hope you're satisfied."

"Actually? Very."

"Wwhat"

Who in their right mind wants an Ampora staring at their ass? People shriek at the idea of having to be in the same room as an Ampora. One time they were playing strip poker as a group and the moment he went to undo his scarf Aradia literally gagged, and Gamzee was sitting there topless. It was his scarf. His, fucking _scarf._ Even Feferi cringed, and she’d already seen him without a shirt o-

... He threw the towel in. Decided to wrap his scarf back up and leave. He should have known, really, that it was a bad idea, some excuse to get Sollux down to his boxers, probably. He doesn’t know how the game went. Doesn’t want to know. No one wants an Ampora around, except for maybe Kankri. No one is desperate enough to subject themselves to that kind of torture.

Karkat is losing his goddamn mind.

That's, that's it, isn't it?

All of this. His sudden interest in him isn't him in the right state of mind. Something's happened to him, some sort of shocking, traumatic event that left his brain in scraps and he can't pick up the pieces on his own, and it's not noticeable because he still acts like a completely functional and normal human being, similar enough to how he used to be that any hints of his condition fly right under the radar. Maybe he snapped, lost his marbles and all of the sudden he isn't himself anymore. Maybe he forgot how bad it was. Did Eridan manipulate him? Did Eridan pull at his strings until Karkat buckled under his control? He's done something. He's done something and it's not good, he thought he was better than this, he thought he was changing-

But what happens if it's none of that? What happens if it's all of his own agency? Then, it has to be an ulterior motive-and whatever it is, he'll let it happen to him just the same. Pushing Karkat away...

He's just being paranoid. It's disgusting, really, to think that way of someone like Karkat.

"Maybe one day I'll let you smack it real nice and hard."

Don’t. _Do that_ to him. Don’t give him some false shred of hope to hold onto, no matter how small. It’s like he’s spitting in his face.

"Kar _wwhat th'fuck does that evven mean"_

"Probably nothing. I just love to see your reaction to dumb shit sometimes."

"Oh, tryin' t'get a rise outta me, huh? Wwell lucky for your sleazy little antics I'm highly reactivve t'just about anythin', but unlucky for me, I'll react t'just about evvery fuckin' thing there is t'react to."

"I know.~ It's fun."

Eridan heaves his insecurities into his next breath, hoping that pushing them out of his body, somehow, will make them leave. "So wwas all that just a bunch a'bullshit t'make me loathe myself a little wworse than before or are y'plannin' t'use that info against me in th'future? 'Cause I knoww y'didn't just ask t'get a kick outta me, as much as you'd like t'havve me believve that, Kar."

",,, I was, actually genuinely curious but now that you've given me the idea..."

"Oh god fuckin' damnit Kar wwould y'SPARE me a bit here?"

"Nah. Your fault for trusting me."

"I mean I guess you're right but, don't tell Captor."

"That would be bad for _you."_

"Wwhich is exactly wwhy I'm tellin' y't'keep your bitch ass fuel chute shut 'round that cockroach lookin' ass vvibrator Kar, I'll nevver hear th'end a'it an' he'll be after me for th'rest a'my damn life. Or, his damn life, I guess."

"You think we can still die?"

"Probably. I mean it might be different for y'cause y'wweren't trapped in wwhatevver dream bubble, and t'be honest, I don't remember anythin' after becomin' Erisolsprite, so maybe I didn't evven get one a'those, but I nevver reached god tier an' I don't think my wwimpy shrimp appendages deservve immortality anywway. Nevver did anythin' wworthy a'note, y'knoww?"

Well, besides ruin everything. No one will let him forget it, and they shouldn't, and he shouldn't wait around for them to stop, because it's what he deserves. And what has he done since then? Be, dead? Be dead. And then come back to life and live a completely arbitraty and meaningless existence and waste space and resources that other people could have. Greedy, selfish, narcissistic, god, he's so full of himself, and he throws his own shit pity parties and they're fucking MASSIVE aren't they? Him and his ego, together in the same room, Eridan small but the other in attendance big enough to eat the entirety of the North Pacific like table scraps, and they feed off of each other's bullshit. He's careless. He's destructive. He babies himself too much, why doesn't he just, fade away, already?

Karkat doesn't need to hear that from him, he has enough on his plate. Fuck. Here he is, being selfish, again. Being some brooding bastard and talking about how shitty he is. Doesn't matter if it's a few passing sentences. It's more than it ought to be. Repair it with some appended optimism.

"I-"

"But maybe I'll make my existence wworth a feww pages in someone else's biography or somethin' if I'm lucky."

Fuck, he's so SHIT at optimism.

"What if I don't really wanna be immortal?"

It's not like he can blame him for that, he'd probably hate being immortal, too. But Karkat has the opportunity to keep those close to him, as he lives his immortal life, so why doesn't he? It would make sense. Even as everything else faded into infinity, he'd have hands to hold, he'd have voices to hear, he'd have warm bodies to hug and heartbeats to feel and listen to and the string of life would still stretch long into the nothingness, become a beacon of light and hope that springs forth new birth and another infinity, another lifetime, one their immortal hands would have crafted just from having their pulses beat in time. And could anyone imagine? The beautiful infinity that would make, one fair and kind and loving and fulfilling, from Karkat's heart. He wishes he could have lived in that infinity. If not live, maybe see it, but it's not what he deserves.

Anyway. Even as he tries to veil his mourning as confusion, it seeps through his tone like a broken pipeline. "Wwhaddya mean? You'd havve evveryone there wwith y'wwouldn't-"

"Not you, though."

Karkat, has lost his mind.

Shaky breaths, apprehension. Should he do something? Should he say no, Karkat, that's not okay of you, that's a terrible idea, that's- "That's, an awwful big statement comin' outta your mouth there, Kar. Mind retractin' that?"

"I would mind a whole fucking lot."

Idiot. Does he not care for himself?

"I, just don't think it'd be, fair, for y't-"

"I don't know what you're about to say, but whatever it is, don't say it. I know what kind of utter crap it's about to be. You fucking heard me, dumbass."

He inhales to speak hot fire, to speak anger, the fucking, idiot, how could he ever, _say,_ something like that, but he hears the same white hot breath from Karkat, faster, more aggressive, hears the tremor in his throat and the boiling in his stomach, and Eridan's stomach corkscrews into his lungs and thickened black fear bubbles into his throat, into his gills.

What the hell is coming that he isn't prepared for, and why does he feel like the spiral downward will end up shattering him again?


	11. Echoes of LOWAA

"I already told you I miss you. I already told you I want to spend time with you. Why would I feel any different about making a statement like that?"

It comes out with a bite that sinks into the webbing of his fin and the tip of his ear. Sharp teeth, given life in tone, pearly white and hot, intent on charring beyond recognition. He winces, though when he goes to feel for the bite, it's not there. Here's the problem with that whole, statement thing. See, there is something here Karkat's forgetting, and Eridan, too, has forgotten it for a brief moment, for his own sanity, but it bubbles and churns just below the surface of his skin. It'll strike, later. There is no doubt in his mind, what little of it is available to process much of a rational and coherent thought, anyway. 

He wants to steer the conversation away, with, something, but Karkat won't let it go, the tremors in his breath make evident that fact. He even tries to interrupt, Karkat is just, faster. "You know what the worst part is? I used to feel different about it and I hate it. I hate every single fucking moment I ever loathed you. It's hard to live with myself because I took a look at a friendship I'd built since before I knew friendship and a friendship I'd built in the past sweep and I chucked out the one that mattered more because I thought to myself, there's no fucking way this guy is thinking rationally."

But he was right. Of course Eridan was thinking irrationally. Isn't that the whole point? He should have kept his head, he-but even more importantly, maybe Karkat had built a friendship with a different Eridan. An apparition built on a foundation of lies, though it was everything Eridan wanted to be. Or maybe it was him, after all, but whoever that Eridan was is gone, and had wasted away long before they entered the game, and Eridan's inner colors were spilled out before them in a visceral painting of truth. At least they got to see him for what he was, right? At least they were able to look out onto that filthy thing splattered on the gray tiles of the lab floor and come to the collective thought that he was all the worst parts of trollkind put together. That, that gives _him_ comfort, because it means whatever this is can be fixed. It can be fixed. He can fix it, and Karkat won't have to-

"No one was thinking rationally. Not even me. Especially not me."

Who CARES? Of course no one was thinking rationally! They were all about to-

"I constantly bickered with myself when I could have just DONE things! I got hung up over my bullshit and completely fucked us over because I was supposed to be leading and what the fuck did I even do? What did I do? Assign my disfunction to my teammates who needed me? I was supposed to straighten us all out! What the fuck was I even on about? I, Eridan."

He'd done more for that meteor than anyone else there, because somehow, he was one of the few that could keep focused, even with all of the distraction he made for himself. And he understands, he does; Karkat and Eridan have the same problem, easily baited into conversations and arguments when they could just as easily drop it. There's some part of them that can't let things go, at least, in the moment, and isn't that why he's still on the phone? He could, just-

"And we were 13 just like John and Dave and we were stupid out of our minds and shaking and angry and afraid."

They were young, and they were afraid, and that's something no one seems to understand fully, not even themselves. And they were THERE, experiencing that fear together, the kind that tied everyone's stomachs in a big chain with thick knots and secured them with needles and clamps and whenever anyone moved, everyone else's stretched with them, and the needles dug in further and further and they bled out, all over their clothes. Painful fear, impossible to escape from, because who wanted to die there? If they'd only worked together more, if only he hadn't been so occupied with his own ego, with his own agenda-

"If maybe one of us took a moment to listen-"

He can't, let him go on about this anymore. It's, not, fair. "I wwasn't thinkin' rationally an' it wwas still my fault for doin' it."

"But NO ONE ELSE TOOK ACCOUNTABILITY."

It almost bursts his eardrums, and he drops his phone to the pillow, clasps his palm over the side of his head to check for more bleeding, hoping that maybe, it's still intact. He swears, he SWEARS he feels warm liquid leak from his head, but when he pulls his hand away and inspects it, the only blood there is smeared on his fingertips from brushing over his horns and already dried in the healing lacerations of his palm. Something akin to the art of fixing broken pottery with liquid gold, only Eridan's hands are kept together by fragile strands of rich violet. He squeezes it, and the scabbing breaks, and there's that warm gush of blood, pooling in his cupped palm, slowly, and a trickle flows down the back of it when he starts to tremble. It doesn't hurt. It, doesn't hurt. Why is it somehow the only part of him that isn't screaming, and yet, the only part that's freely bleeding?

And then Karkat's voice slashes through his thoughts again, a white sword cutting through dense darkness and blinding him, enough for him to grip at his head to try and stop the oncoming blaring headache. "Yeah okay, people died. The Matriorb was destroyed. There were multiple people who escalated that situation far beyond what it should have escalated to and you're the one who takes the brunt of it? Why? Because you fired the first shot? Fuck, you didn't even kill the first body in that fucking hellhole. It was probably Vriska, or Gamzee, but because you're you, because you're Eridan, you're somehow solely responsible for every wrong doing that happened in that room. You're the only one at fault. And in our stupid chicken heads with their little pea brains we believed that was the most rational decision we'd made that day. You even had IMMEDIATE consequences when Kanaya chased after you and cut you down, and you faced confrontation about the whole thing before it even happened."

Something small, quaking in the darkest corner of the room, something that fears its existence will fade by making itself known, that it'll be crushed by an assault of violent words until it's nothing more than a smear against paint. It has to make itself known anyway, and it does. "I don't like any a'wwhat you're sayin', Kar."

"Would you listen for a m-"

"No."

Does he not understand? That a killer can't claim he's been hurt by the bodies on the ground? That no one should be able to say the blood on his hands is no fault of his own? The words string out from behind him, too, a mouth that isn't his, words in shades of blue and grey that clink when they plummet, thump with the weight they hold. They shouldn't hold any, they should be meaningless and flighty and disperse on contact with the air. What the hell is he thinking? What the hell is he THINKING? Why does he sound like he believes them when he has made it so clear to him, before, that-

The breath Karkat takes in is sharp, but he'll steal the knife from his tongue and pierce it through his lungs himself, so that Karkat doesn't have to stain his sweater violet. "I ain't wwillin' t'do nothin' but owwn up t'it in full noww that I havve th'chance t'do so. I already had it taken from me, an' talkin' like that makes it sound like y'don't believve I shoulda been punished for it."

Punished further. He knows what he got, but Kanaya should have sat there for hours and taken the time to carve him into something unrecognizable, leave shredded chunks of his corpse littered across the meteor, so sparse that no one would have to worry about looking at more than an inch of him at any given time, wouldn't have to be reminded of his existence. He should have been flung into an incinerator so that he could have felt the pain long enough to really understand what he'd done to everyone, to feel what they were feeling. Something as long and torturous as possible, drawn out until he was unable to cling to life any longer. He should have felt their suffering, the torment of their ancestors, and of every troll that suffered before them. And after death, he should have been given more. But maybe the isolation was enough.

"I should havve."

Karkat's breathing isn't audible, and that scares him, but he has the slightest suspicion it's fear that's keeping him silent. Fear of him? Maybe, and he has every right to be afraid. What he's talking to is barely a creature capable of true emotion, of sympathy. If Karkat is still on the other end, he hopes maybe, by the end of this, he'll have second thoughts about seeing him tomorrow, or ever again.

"Maybe I already got my punishment, but if you're still ovver here talkin' 'bout it, y'think about that moment evvery day. Y'think about it as th'catalyst for murder an' destruction an' evverythin' y'evver had t'fix that wwasn't wworth fixin'. Evverythin' y'had t'vvieww that wwasn't wworth vviewwin'."

Everything. They could have been spared so much pain- _no_ , he could have been spared so much pain. He was the only one left standing, he was the only one left to make a decision as to whether or not his life would end, and yet,

And yet.

But it wasn't kindness that kept him grounded there, was it?

"Maybe wwe entered that game an' shit happened an' wwe wwon an' wwe doomed ourselvves an' it wwas utter shit. So fuckin' wwhat?"

The ceiling dances before him, now, swirling like liquid silicone, sheets rise and fall as if the bed has lungs, as if at any moment they might leap up and swallow him. All of his furniture, no matter where he looks, takes the shape of a living, breathing thing, expanding and collapsing in a mismatched rhythm, which only works to make them more human, more alive, and the walls behind every person in that room whip by as if running in circles, trapping him in movement. As if he wasn't already trapped. As if he could get up to reach for the door handle. And he does try, he does, only for him to buckle enough to be laying on his side, right next to his phone. His pillow soaks in the blood smeared on his face, in his hair and all over his horn, the blood that still oozes from his hand.

"Evveryone wwas doin' their damned best t'make us undoomed an' y'knoww what? Maybe wwe wwoulda succeeded if I'd kept my damn mouth shut." He squeezes the pillow until the fabric buries itself in his wound and he has to pluck the sticky pillowcase from the open muscles of his hand. Such a mess. And still, without thinking, he digs his nails into his scalp, hair clinging to the still-tacky tissues uncovered when he cracked the scabbing.

"Maybe if I'd just wwent an' minded my owwn business an' fucked right off t'hell wwith all th'angels I sent there wwe wwoulda been just fine."

Some sort of damnation, right? Some retribution. Some deliverance for those who suffered.

"I came in wwith my self-righteous ass an' told evveryone wwhat they wwere doin' wwas a futile effort an' wwe should all pack it up an' go home. After evveryone wwas bleedin' themselvves dry a'evverythin' they had. I spat in their faces."

They were hanging on at the edge of a splitting rope, threadbare and thin and he saw it slicing into their hands, just as his own hand is sliced in fragments, and what did he do? What kind of talk did he bring to them? Did everyone stop fighting, after what he'd done? Did he really bring their only chance of victory to its end, or were they fine without him? He, doesn't know. He still doesn't know and why should he know? He hasn't earned it. But even as he saw them clinging with the hope he could never have, pleading with the world for something to help them through, he was blind to his own foolery. He may have been weary and sore and frail enough to fall to pieces at a single touch, burst into tears at the smallest word of encouragement. Did it warrant his script? Did it justify his need to tell everyone they should give up, when they were scraping the bottom of the barrel and he was simply lying there doing nothing?

"Wwouldn't it make sense that they wwould be angry wwith me before I evver lost my shit?"

And Karkat, weren't you angry? Didn't you go to him and-not yet. We're not there yet.

"Wwouldn't it make sense that I wwoulda deservved it after all?"

Because what DOESN'T he deserve, really?

"I knoww I wwoulda gone after myself wwith a chainsaww if I wwas talkin' that wway about my friends' efforts. An' maybe that's exactly wwhat I wwanted."

Because it was.

"Maybe I realized I wwasn't wworth th'trouble a'it all, after all, wwhen I heard those ugly little wwords come outta th'mouth I least expected them to."

He thought he'd never give up, after all this time, not when his friends needed him, and still,

"I betrayed myself, an' evverythin' I believved in, an' all a'my friends' hopes an' dreams an' Kar, most a'all, I fuckin' betrayed you."

A blast that echoed in hollow walls for the rest of eternity. His crimes will be immortalized there, even if maybe that meteor is long gone, stained pink and yellow and green forever in the fabric of time, the last beats of their trembling hearts static sound waves waiting to vibrate and pulse in their bodies again. Someone's body, if not their own, and if he could pluck them from their permanent hold in time, return that moment to the small gap in their chests, he would. He'd give anything to be a time player, to have the power to go back and stop himself, to be able to salvage what little he could, maybe end it all before it could begin. Yes, that's it. End it all. If he could prevent himself. If, at the very least, he could have saved one life. Just, one.

He can feel the blood running between his fingers, gushing from both his palms like hot gelatin, thick as the pressure he laid across Karkat's chest. The only one left alive in that room, because even when everyone else was white, strung out before him against the darkness of his own heart, Karkat was red. Red anger underneath a blanket of gray, color bursting from his chest, from his eyes, from his heart. His heart. Bruised violet with fear, and with betrayal, loud screeching that pierced through the constant thrumming and white noise, weeping _' **HOW COULD YOU? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO THEM? DO YOU FEEL NOTHING?'**_ Over, and over, and over and over, hole after hole after hole and if only. If only it would have killed him. If only he'd crashed to the blood-soaked tile then, if only his knees had given out and he'd fallen on his wand and it had pushed clean through his chest and threaded pieces of his own heart between his ribs and the woven fibers of his sweater. If he'd had the sense to turn the wand on himself, instead of throwing his arms out in front of him, trying to reach for life already fading before him. Would Karkat have understood? Would Karkat have cared? He shouldn't have cared even if he would have, but he wonders, would he?

But no. No, if he'd done that, there would have been no point. He wouldn't have truly been able to die, if he'd done the just thing and said 'I hear you. I'm sorry.' It would have balanced the scale, and allowed for life, as the truly just and moral action would have been to take his life before someone else had to do so. Eridan was not in a place to make himself a saint for any reason, nor did he want to assign justice to his list of doings. And what would that make that white lance through Feferi, then? 'I'm going down, but I'm taking you with me,' after he'd come to her to supposedly give her another chance at life? No! No, for it to be a suicide would have turned his sins from leeches to eldritch horrors, more selfish and vile and repulsive than a supposed lashing out for being rejected. The point of no return. The only choice was to become the villain he'd already decided to be, and instill anger and justice into someone who could kill him the right way. Drowned in thick darkness like black tar that flooded his lungs until they burst with a slurry of gooey, clouded, liquid death, a mixture of his own blood and the void he'd swallowed and breathed. There was no point in saying sorry. There's still no point in saying sorry. That same sticky tar lingers in the deepest parts of his person, his very core, and it will never leave.

It,

Will never,

Leave.

Smash him against the spiked and iced floor of the ninth layer of hell until he bursts into the tenth, and fling him into the pit, throw the torch in, and watch him burn. Watch him burn alive until he's nothing more than smoking ash, in a layer that doesn't even exist except for to punish him, and let him atone for something he can never fully atone for. If there is no redemption for his sins, why allow him to hurt anyone else any longer by giving him a life he proved he wasn't deserving of? He's the perfect fire starter, the perfect scapegoat, and if the devil is not made in his image, then there is no hell. Let him be the tinder for someone else's flame of life. Let his death bring out the gift of virtue and repentance he knows life holds. Why won't the world give them solace? Why can't he die?

Why, can't he die? He thought he was getting better. He thought he was getting _better._

It shouldn't be better.

The betrayal slices at him from the inside out, branches out from his veins like white hot powerlines, charged with voltaic energy. It crackles, strikes at his stiffened muscles to shatter them until his limbs are dried clay that crumbles into the void. Copper wire poked into his skin like threaded needles, spiraled through his bones. His fault. His fault. Everything is his fault. Karkat, oh, Karkat, if only he hadn't committed it where Karkat had to suffer through it. He can only imagine the weight he must carry even now, as Eridan sits here, breathing like jet engines, like the vacuum of space ripping oxygen particles from the free air to suck in. He should stop. Stop. Breathing.

His heart tells him he'd reach out for his hand, foolishly, and he'd keep holding on even if Karkat dragged him down to the deepest layers of hell if it would mean he'd get to have his hand in his one more time before his soul was condemned for eternity. He would. He would take the chance if offered, regardless of the consequences, but to be offered something so grand is a luxury he should be barred from indulging in.

"An' I told myself I'd be there t'help you, I told myself I'd be your goddamn right hand man all th'wway t'hell an' back an' wwhat did I do?"

He was supposed to be there.

"I spent evvery minute I coulda been sparin' t'your time fuckin' around for my owwn selfish gain."

He was supposed to, be there, he promised himself he would walk him through everything and yet he let himself get trapped there on LOWAA, flying wisps of drowned bodies chasing him enough to wear him down into a fight, bodies with wings like butcher blades gathered together in bundles and rows of teeth that were meant for grinding prey into nothing more than strange liquid meat. So much like the lifeless corpses of those that Vriska and Eridan, together, decided to steal the life from when they would play pretend as if they were their ancestors before them, wreaking havoc on the life of the water. Ones that Eridan, while he never shot to kill, only frighten, or maybe hurt just enough for them to be able to limp away, always gave Vriska the motive to finish. Watching them fall, drop, their weight teeter over the edge of their ships until they plummeted into the ocean below only to float on the surface, drift like debris on top of the waves, empty eyes and vacant vessels seeing nothing, but still, right through him, visions scraped forever in his mind. Nameless. Soon, faceless, as he would throw blankets over them in order to give them some sort of twisted respect. Angels in their image, those bodies draped in damp cloth, and in the image of the lusii he shot dead into the water, coming back to remind him of his sins. To haunt him, torment him just as he deserved.

He let himself get trapped in the punishment, in the soul-sucking labor of living through every vivid memory that brought him to his knees screaming, and instead of pulling himself from the black hole he'd created for himself and coming to support Karkat, who was grinding himself until bone showed through muscle, he made more of those vivid memories, as he watched their now lifeless bodies drop from the sky and crash against the blinding tiles of the hallowed halls of LOWAA. Fitting. Fitting that they would be laid to rest in a place of sanctity by a tormentor so unstoppable he could not even stop himself, no matter how strong his will when he entered the medium. Though he was swarmed, though they locked their jaws around his arms and sucked the very soul from him until his eyes rolled back white and he couldn't hold himself up, anymore, though he had to keep his gun firing on each adversary for longer than a minute before they finally were thieved of their lives, they were harmless. They, at first, were HARMLESS, and he only found out too late, before they turned on him, rightfully, to defend themselves. He should have known Vriska was wrong. He should have known not to turn his weapon on them. The only noises he ever heard there were the screaming of poor angels and the thumps of their bodies from below when they hit the ground, and as much as they wore him down, the silence hurt more.

Silence, like the void between his words, only he can hear his pulse throbbing through every inch of himself. It tries to seep into the darkness, the inky black, the kind of blackness he spilled all over the glittering white chapels of his land, until he'd painted it with death, with murder. Somehow, it was easier on his eyes than this, even against the stark contrast of the blankness of the sky.

"Y'wwere all th'vvictim a'my owwn shit brain because all it could think about wwas itself."

A victim. Backed into a corner like a startled rabbit, made to stand by and watch, eyes wide and flightly and filled with tears that streaked blue down the burning red of his form, blue and gray like sombre spring rain, grief-stricken skies that pour the mourning of the heavens down on the world, onto the skin of those who grieve all the same, whose hearts are filled so heavily with pain they threaten to burst out before the world in broken sobs.

"Repentance is all I wwanna knoww. Don't matter if I'm not th'only one at fault. I started it, an' I shoulda ended it before it evver started."

Justice. Justice for them, in the form of erasing his existence from every timeline and allowing them the peace they'll never have, now.

"God, this ain't wwhat I wwas expectin' t'talk about t'night an' noww I'll nevver get t'sleep, but I'm th'one wwho called, so it's my fault, ain't it?"

Stupid of him, to ever press the button. The phone should have snapped under his fingers and stabbed into them with shards of glass, until they shot all the way up to his heart and cut it until it could beat no more.

"I'm sorry."

Karkat's voice, apologetic, and soft, like it doesn't belong. No, that's not for him. It isn't. 

"No, Kar, I'm th'one wwho's sorry."

As he should be, as anyone with or without a pulse should be, for his actions, for his birth and for his continued breath, but even still,

"An' it still ain't enough."

It will never be enough.

And here, where the silence threatens to drop on him like heavy construction pipes and kill him where he lays, here is where the searing white anger of Karkat's last words resurface, where they shave spirals behind his eyes and shred themselves into the back of his skull to never be forgotten, ever again. They reflect onto his skin from inside his head, blaring like the light of a flashlight through his gaze. And even as they are white, still, he remembers the color of the script they were typed in, and it battles with the image of emotion Karkat displayed there in that fateful moment.


	12. My Withering Diamond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hear my pale confession, that it may mend your weeping heart
> 
> and if my words fail, I'll be here to pull you, withering,
> 
> trembling and tearful and mourning for something you'll never have
> 
> into my arms, and your heart will echo
> 
> one word:
> 
> Red.

CCG: HEY ASSHOLE

CCG: CONSIDER OUR "PACT" OVER

He was so confused, at first, when Karkat had appeared only to slap him in the face with something he thought could never exist. A pact? They'd never verbalized anything, or, so he thought, but then he remembered the few words they exchanged, brief in nature, in the small window they had before everything went wrong. That's something he'll leave for another time, though, when he doesn't want to rip his eyes from their place in his sockets, or maybe when he can simply give himself the time to make sure they come out when he digs at them. The shame he feels, that his recollection is sparse at best, hazy, full of static, burns like nothing else; he walked away so important. Chest toward the ceiling, the smallest flames of hope cradled in his clasped hands. Those weak, dying embers, fleeting as they were young, had carried him long after they had died out and caked his hands in scorched, damaged skin, in a dull charcoal dust that wouldn't wash away. He'd even thought to reach for the flint and steel once more, had thought to spark fire anew and bring life to kindling so devoid of it, so withered. And, look at that; the first sparks he ever made with his own striking of the steel.

PCA: wwevve got a pact

CCG: NOT ANYMORE

Sparks that were useless, in the end.

CCG: YOU ARE DEAD TO ME

All the time in the world would have never been enough to prepare him for this,

CCG: PAST YOU, PRESENT YOU, FUTURE YOU

nor any warning, no matter how explicit,

CCG: AND ABOVE ALL, UGLY SCARFNECKED DOUCHEBAG HIPSTER YOU

and he thinks about it, sure, he thinks about it all the time, how he could have been, different, for him, how maybe if he wasn't so much of a douchebag, how maybe if he wasn't so, _disgusting,_ and he knows he is, he can't even bring up a single time where anyone's told him otherwise and yet he couldn’t even begin to _count_ \- If maybe he could have changed- If maybe he could have molded himself, into a shape that was at the very least easier on the eyes, with a heart that wasn't so, rotten,

CCG: WAIT I FORGOT, ALL OF THE YOUS ARE THAT YOU

it would have been futile. In all places, in all times, with all effort or differences, it wouldn't have mattered in the slightest bit.

CCG: IF I WASN'T SO TERRIFIED, I'D BE CONSUMED WITH ANGER, AND AS SOON AS I'M DONE COWERING IN A DARK CORNER HIDING FROM THAT HONKING MURDEROUS TOOL, I'M GOING TO HUNT YOU DOWN AND FILLET YOU WITH MY SICKLE.

And after all, it really was so stupid of him to think, for even a second, that he was worthy of anyone, or their presence, or the knowledge of their presence- he should have known better. He should have, and Karkat, if he was merciful to himself, should have clenched the handle of his sickle with all the righteous feelings of justice in his heart and reaped his wretched soul from his body before he had the chance to say anything beyond a hello.

PCA: wwhoa kar

PCA: this is nothin if not flatterin but dont you think youre comin on a little strong

And wasn't he a fool?

CCG: OH GOD

CCG: I AM NOT HITTING ON YOU IDIOT, THIS IS HONEST TO GOT PLATONIC ENMITY

And isn't he a fool to be here, now, to be here despite having brought him to feel like this, to think he could ever be allowed to demand a piece of Karkat's time by having the audacity to dial his number in the first place?

CCG: LIKE IN THE "I REALLY DO WANT YOU TO DIE" KIND OF WAY.

If only Karkat could find his head again. Remember, this, or maybe he does, maybe he's pushing it back for Eridan's sake, but if he could gain the common sense to

To have

To

And his thoughts cycle, incomplete, a record scratch that gets louder with every repeat, ruining the vinyl beyond recognition. To. To, to, to what? What does he have time to? To do, or to say, or to _think,_ when he's already so tied up in everyone else's strings and for Eridan to have given him one more - for Karkat to have pulled it towards him - NO! For Eridan to have so selfishly wrung it around his neck, for him to have held him hostage, be HOLDING HIM NOW, in the dead of night, because he doesn't want to be alone with the silence, because he can't stand the thought of meeting his thoughts face to face, of allowing himself to succumb to whatever weight they hold, it's,

If he could claw at whatever tightly locked box Karkat has, somewhere in him, the one that holds every bit of bitterness and lingering resentment and annoyance and frustration and _anger,_ if Karkat could take a moment to have a heart to heart with himself,

If he could tell him to, go away, to stop being so

CCG: I AM NOT INITIATING AN ELABORATE CALIGINOUS WALTZ WITH YOU YOU DESPERATE SHIT.

But it’s his fault. This, and that, and then and now, it’s all his fault because he’s so

desperate. Desperate, and he hasn’t changed at all since he was young, and still, there's a part of him that will do anything to go back to the way things were and he'll never have that, he knows it, and why does he keep chasing his tail in circles when he could just stop? All he has to do is put the thought down and walk away. Turn off his phone, walk away. Walk, away, maybe even just drop the phone and head downstairs and make himself something to calm his nerves. Walk, aw _ay_ , walk, aw _AY_ , _there's no way he can really want you here_ , Eridan, _no way he'd let you do this to him of his own volition._ Turn off the phone, and walk away.

It would be so easy, wouldn't it?

It's never that easy.

Hand clutching his phone so hard the case splinters, that his knuckles pop, turn a light gray as the blood fails to flow, there, he can feel the plastic dig into his palms just as the splintering wood from his shed, hear his thumb pop out of place. Turn, off, the phone, and walk away. The heart on the other end is burdened with the weight of your own, having to hold emotional baggage for two. It's not fair to him. For Karkat to have to provide a safe place for his feelings, for his thoughts, or even a place away from his thoughts; the only responsibility Karkat has to anyone at all is to, is to his, _  
_

and that's why he stays, isn't it? Because he can't get himself to stop being such a waste of space who wants things he doesn't even deserve. Wants things he hasn't earned. The pad of his thumb fumbles with the power button because it wants to pretend like it can press it, like it has all the gumption and grit it could ever need to tell Eridan off but it can't, and it won't. The phone's his lifeline to what he's lost to his own shortcomings, his tether to the earthen soil, to a future already gone. Maybe he's not even on the phone, and maybe he's asleep, another nightmare, and when he wakes up-

"Eridan."

And when he wakes up-

"Eridan."

And, when he,

"Eridan?"

If, he,

"Eridan, are y-"

"WWHAT??"

Booming, commanding, his own panic overwhelms him and beats at his walls with its projection, its need to scream HOW _DARE_ HE, how dare Eridan _ever_ , _**EVER-**_

"I-"

"WWHAT NOWW KAR?? AIN'T IT TIME FOR ME T'HANG UP?? AIN'T IT OBVVIOUS I'VVE OVVERSTAYED MY WWELCOME??"

And there it is again, so bitter and angry and demanding and he can feel the way it thumps against his own chest, cracking at his ribs and he swears his chest is bleeding, now, too, and it cuts into him with foul intent and does Karkat feel that same burn, the same hysteria that takes to his sternum with a battering ram? A crescendo that never peaks, always growing in potential, always pleading with him to end the way he runs his feelings through hoops and makes them trudge through rivers, always failing, never stopping, resistance against Karkat's attempts to come closer and still he can't win. And now it's finally crafted itself into a double sided sword with a triple edged blade and the scars will be there forever, won't they? And they'll be so visible, won't they?

And Karkat is bleeding too, now, isn't he?

Steady, unwavering breaths from the other end, though the damage is already done, he can feel it in the slightly colder tone, no longer soft, balmy puffs of air. His own nails are digging into his shirt, so sharp, he forgot to clip them like he normally does, and they cut through the fabric and they pierce his skin and he feels the warm blood bead at his fingertips and how does he not deserve this? He should dig at himself until his hand finally stills, devoid of life, devoid of blood, devoid of hope.

Between the forced gentleness of Karkat's solid, rhythmic breathing, and the fingers working ever so surely to pierce through his heart, there is not a single sound, no faint, dull pattering of midnight rain against the window, no air vents overworking to compensate for the dust that turns their insides almost black; even the music Karkat so graciously put on to distract them from what falls between words dares not interrupt the gravity of Eridan's fatal misstep in their dance of banter bordering on flirtation and uncomfortable introspection. As much as he wants to end this right now, escape from what he's just done, not even he himself will let him get away from this. When all pulls away from him, leaves him with no distraction from the slight quiver at the end of Karkat's every inhale-

His heart spits at him, falls out of its own rhythm and in line with Karkat's breath to burn it into his brain that this is what he's done, that he's failed, _yet again,_ to shut. Up. To do the one thing he thought he'd be able to manage, after all of those years he'd suffered in the afterlife, alone, the one thing he pleaded to barter his _soul_ for. More than anything else, if he couldn't have the one thing he'd wanted most, he begged to never hurt Karkat again.

And for what?

Where has that brought him? Here? To do, this? To betray so blatantly the path of his own heart and the path of Karkat's, too, to throw him into the tangled brush to pluck the thorns from his bleeding hands and scramble to find his footsteps once more? What is, _wrong,_ with him? There's undoubtedly a laundry list more sizable than the distance between him and the core of the earth, with more shockingly horrid and consistent presence than the sun itself. So where does this fall, then? What on that list gave him the right to destroy, as he does, again and again, because he _couldn't unstick himself from the ever-persistent recklessness of his feelings?_ If, if he-

Only now does he breathe and oh, it isn't so steady, and the way his lungs rip oxygen molecules apart to take in sears at their fine tissues, but even if it hurts to breathe, he has to repent. He never will, no, but there's something that says futility, though permanent, is worth fighting against even if, if he has to - "Fuck, I didn't mean it Kar, I didn't mean t'raise my vvoice I'm so," and it cuts him off in the middle of his sentence when he chokes on the lump in his throat that aches and aches and devours his lungs in dull, throbbing aching, every moment he's still alive is a sin. He doesn't belong here, with Karkat, still waiting on the other end, for him to hang up, and yet,

And yet he can't and he chokes out a weak, broken sob, "I'm sorry Kar," and it trembles and it wavers and then there's a heave for breath but he doesn't get to cry, he's not the one hurt, he doesn't get to cry, why is he still here, why is he-

"Eridan."

Why is he still here and why hasn't he done enough to apologize and why won't he just leave him alone and why is he still here,

"Y'didn't deservve it, Kar,"

Why is he-

"Eridan?"

Calm, soft voice, smooth and deep and maybe a bit rough around the edges from all the constant talking he does but it washes over Eridan in gentle waves and his mind isn't spinning so much anymore, though he still can't look anywhere without feeling dizzy and nauseous, and so if for some reason he's still sitting, he can't remember whether he is or not anyway, he meets the mattress again, turns to his side and clutches at his stomach where his shirt sticks to his wet hand and the blood drips down his forehead in thick beads that leave a trail. He can't find the blanket but he's so cold. He's so cold and he feels small and maybe he deserves it, but all he wants is to feel safe, and warm, and for his feelings to leave him even at the risk of taking out his body with them. He'd be fine with sleeping forever, now. It's a terrifying thought, it is. Is the alternative much better?

He's a mess, he needs a shower; he probably smells like the hollow bones of sun-baked rotting fish that bleeds from its marrow and the few chunks of flesh left, though he can't pick up on anything but the taste of the bile that eats away at his throat. He's so cold but his cheeks burn so feverishly and he can't tell why and does he even deserve the-

"Eridan?" Again, with more concern, with sweet, encompassing warmth, and he hears shuffling and scrambling as his fingernail finally taps the button and the music stops, leaving them alone with the silence, but now he can hear his breath more intimately and it gives him the smallest of shivers and he swears, he swears on his life that he can feel fingers between his and another palm against his hand, but there's nothing there. He knows there isn't, and there can't be. Not unless something has come to finish him off.

"Eridan, back here, now. Please?"

"Wwhat is it, Kar?"

A reply on impulse; he has no idea what he's actually said to him, though his words are starting to form shape in his head. He's still dazed and so far off somewhere else, where the fog is dense and soupy and all-consuming and it freezes skin till it thins and cracks open at all of its most delicate seams and the blood that pours spikes in chunks of murky, dusted ice, and the longer he exist the further they dig into him and-

"You're crying."

A fingertip brushes along the crease of his bottom lid and oh, that's what it is. The warmth of his tears shocks him, he hasn't felt anything so warm from his body in such a long time. Pain, joy, anger, fear, all anything has ever brought him is the cold. Somehow these tears are not his own, he must have had someone weep into them to make him seem more human. Is he even capable of crying? And yet he feels the way the heavy weight in his chest drops against his lungs as he heaves in another breath, almost embarrassingly loud, and isn't it embarrassing to Karkat, for him to have to hear it, and he can't get enough air in but he has to say something to him, _say_ something, why is it so _hard-_

"I'm," and what does he say? An apology would never be enough, but doesn't he still deserve to hear it? "I'm real sorry 'bout that, Kar, I can-"

"Don't go."

But _why?_ If he doesn't want him here then why? The ghost here, on his bedsheets, on the other end of the connection, doesn't _exist_ and yet it still pleads with him to stay. This moment is just another thorn to grow from the earth that calls for him, every day whispering how it misses him so, how when he returns it will be ready with open arms and smiles that whip air into his chest and will make him breathe when he is no longer there to do so. Another promise of this, prison, the one that coils tighter and tighter still round his arm and brings his knuckles to blacken and palms to bubble up with violet bursts of the life that fades further into the background with every heavy footed awakening just before the sun can grace the sky with its light and bring its first hints of colors to his blurry morning vision that has yet to break into clarity even with his glasses. He doesn't understand. There is nothing here with him and this moment has no meaning except for to hurt them both. He's hurting them both. Both of them, and still it feels as though the person on the other end of his satellite connection gives breath and weight and presence next to him and if there were fingers to that entity they would have wrapped round his wrist and pulled his hand to press against _nothingness_ as if to remind him that everything he shouldn't be able to have is out of his reach always. Always, and that it's what he deserves. The ghost here, on his bedsheets, on the other end of the connection, doesn't exist and it tells him he can't _have_ it and still and still and _STILL, it begs him to stay, don't go,_

"I'm sorry too."

And it mocks him, for he'll never be able to make up for that nothingness _he_ caused because once upon a time, when he couldn't keep himself together and ended up bringing heartbeat after heartbeat to true silence when he could have simply folded and crumbled and ceased to be before he ever let himself unravel. A nice, folded sheet, thrown into the incinerator to be turned to harmless ash and used for plant food to nourish something more worth the life it was given than he ever could have been. It mocks him, as it should.

As it should.

There's a thick knot between his ribcage and his stomach that sears a bit as it continues to grow and push against all of his soft, mushy organs that bruise in ways that will never kill him but will do _just enough_ to make him feel as such, giving him false hope that he'll go, quietly, but he can't go unless he _hangs up,_ unless he ends it here and leaves so that Karkat won't have to listen as his heart slowly drops the weight it carries and its beating falls far below zero. Could he, by dying, then, extend _his_ life? Could he, for a moment, take what was given to him and hold it out for Karkat to take, so that the early morning sky may be blessed with his presence for even a moment more?

But that's not what he should be worrying about, is it? It's self centered to think of himself in any context, now, when Karkat feels he has to give an apology for things he never did, for things he was right to do.

His face becomes both plump with water and tight with salt and the feeling that his cheeks are puffy and bursting _hurts_ because he can't get them to stop swelling with the heat of his tears because he doesn't deserve the pleasant warmth formed from such deep sorrow, and somehow, his selfishness, buried in the calcified form of his bones, tells him that even if the world were to end he would still be too desperate to live to allow the world such beauty and instead steal it from the world, for his own indulgence, he would breathe every breath to its last if it meant Karkat would be alive long enough for him to pass being in his presence but here he is thinking about himself AGAIN, how HE feels, when he should be turning his attention toward the grief and anguish he's caused Karkat-

"Hey, Eridan?"

 _Why_ is it that when his voice sounds it brushes so gently over all the bruising he has so rightfully earned and leaves fresh, new skin, unbroken and softer than the hands that healed it so, and there's a color there so fragile and delicate that it tears on his skin as it brushes past, oh, why is it so, _why_ is it so? Winter, so set in his heart, turns to spring with every rise and fall of his tone and how he hates it but if Karkat were to look upon it and see blossoms so frail and desperate to cling to their trees and think that maybe they were at least a little pretty, something worth looking at for EVEN A MOMENT with eyes brimming with yearning, he wouldn't feel so bad for the color in which they bloom, the color he feels from his voice that forms their blush and their fragrance like cinnamon and bright crisp apples and deep, rich velvet.

"Kar?" and though before he dared to cut him with his demanding existence, his voice steps out feeble, small.

"I'm here."

It hurts.

"m'sorryKar"

It, hurts.

"I know."

"m'realsorry"

"I know."

The color of his reassurance doesn't match his blossoms, a fundamental misunderstanding.

But is that Eridan's fault, too? Did he fail to wear his heart on his sleeve to him, so long ago, or did Karkat look at the thick, licorice cord tied around his wrist-

"Hey."

There's a shifting of blankets on the other end as another choked sob escapes, he can't help it, he swears he's trying, but the nausea that creeps up his insides has him teetering, barely able to stabilize himself, ready to roll off and hit the floor to vomit blood. Isn't he just disgusting? All he's good for now is puking out feelings and retching like the bottom feeding piece of scum he is.

"Hey there, deep breaths."

How can he dare to breathe in his presence like this, taking up his precious time, time he could be using to dream himself a place where he isn't babysitting someone's feelings, a place where he doesn't owe anything to anyone, where he can be happy? He asks himself as if he expects himself to breathe in any other time, in any other place, as if he knew how to breathe all his lonesome. Without someone to be there to know if his breath slipped away quietly underneath the blanket of night. Once again, thinking only of himself, Eridan has made, and continues to make himself, another name on Karkat's ever-growing laundry list of problems.

"We can do it together, okay? In,"

His lungs don't give him the choice to ignore him, breaking his shallow hiccups with an inhale that cuts at his delicate tissue.

"Out."

And on command, just before he thinks he might pass out from topping up his oxygen levels, his chest empties itself into the empty of his room with little more than a sob. Lips quaking, pressed tightly in a thin line that still isn't enough to keep him from sniffling, hands fluttering with so little tact he accidentally smacks his phone against the narrow stream of blood that runs down his cheek. Not another breath. Not another breath, not another show of disrespect-

"Good. In,"

"Out."

Terrible. Terrible, he is, but he can't _stop._ Would this be any different if someone else were on the other end of the line? If only there were a cord to coil between his fingers, to snip with his teeth to justify his lack of ability to press the button. What color would that cord be?

"One more time and then we're done. In,"

"Out."

Does he have a cord, after all? He wonders what color it would be, if he could see it, if it were frayed underneath the plastic, if the plastic was intact. Would it be on the last edges of its life, clinging to each end of the landline with frail, splaying threads that would come apart at the brush of his finger? Would it have bite marks, would it have divots? Would it have knots? Does it coil like every other cord out there, or is it long enough that it doesn't need to coil? It wouldn't matter. None of that matters; it would never be long enough. He still has yet to try scissors.

"A little better?" Karkat is so genuine, so helpful even when he doesn't need to be. Of course, Eridan placed that expectation of help on Karkat, at least, for the night, but even so, he's the only person who has yet to leave in the middle of their conversation.

And Eridan, tearfully, with no tact, has to tell him that his gracious efforts have no effect, because he can't be bothered to lie about it. "Not really."

"Okay, is there anything I can do-"

"Kar, y'ain't my moirail."

"I, I know that, Eridan, but I-"

Why does his voice waiver so painfully?

"It ain't your responsibility." It isn't, but, "An' yeah, okay, I did call y'up an' I understand that this is all my owwn fault an' evverythin' an' that for some reason I wwanted t'share th'burden wwith y'evven if y'ain't asked for it, but I, I mean I- I dunno if I'm comin' off like that but if I am I'd like t'take this moment t'say that maybe callin' wwas a mistake since it ain't really doin' either a'us any good, an' I'm real sorry. Y'vve been great help an' comfort despite wwhatevver th'fuck is goin' on wwith me t'night but it just ain't doin' it an' I think, uh, I think after y'vve been givven a right an' proper apology, I should go ahead an' take my leavve."

"I- Eridan, what the shit. Are you serious? Are you fucking yanking my chain around right now? You know I have working fingers, right?" Of course he knows, how else would he have been able to put the music on? So what exactly is that supposed to _mean?_ "Like, I can press the end call button at any time. It's shitscram thirty, there is literally nothing keeping me here that I don't care about, I can fucking promise you that. I don't stay up past one for anything that isn't TV if I can help it and I CERTAINLY do not tell people to stay when I don't want them around. Do I have to fucking remind you about what I said at the beginning of this call? Do I really have to do that?" His voice wears, cracks and thins as he talks, growing hoarse with the effort of speaking. "I don't want to do that, Eridan, but god, if you NEED to have your memory refreshed I'll help you. Not like I'm doing anything else right now."

"Kar."

"I said I missed your voice. What's your damn prob-"

_"Kar."_

_"Eridan?"_

Eridan knows he deserves a lot of the shit he gets. He knows he deserves a smack to the face. What he doesn't need to take, regardless of how shitty he is, is _one more fucking person asking him what his damn problem is, regardless of whether or not he's being a shit._ Because, you know, Eridan has already acknowledged the fact that he is being shitty. He hasn't properly apologized for it yet, and it's probably going to take a while for Karkat to receive a proper apology, but _holy fuck._ No, fucking, thank you. He has heard it so many times, all of the shit that's wrong with him, but he can take someone handing him a scathing letter of criticism over someone asking what's wrong with him. Right there? That's all the evidence he needs to know that him being on the phone is exactly what he thought it was, and that there is no way this conversation is going to be salvaged, and holy shit, whatever damage he's going to have to fix after this is going to drain him of any energy reserves he might have for the next two years. Why the hell did he think maintaining steadier contact with Karkat, who doesn't NEED his shit, was a good idea?

He is one dumbass bastard, and an audacious one, at that. And the worst part is he isn't sure if he'd rather have that told to him directly or if he would rather have to see Feferi's face again. He's comparing the options in his head. He's not sure whether the preference for the former is because he's butthurt or because he- ... because, because he-

"Don't think I forgot what you said, too. That you weren't doing well. What, I'm just going to let you squirrel after all of that? I get that you probably want to go find a burrow to rot in right now, but I'm not leaving you alone until you're okay."

"Y'ain't supposed t'be dealin' wwith my shit too on top a-"

"No. Don't. You fucking stop that shit, okay?"

"Y'ain't-"

"You already said that, Eridan. I know I'm not your moirail, but, come on. I just fucking told you I wouldn't be here otherwise. I want to do this. It's a lot easier if we do it together, and you said it yourself. You called me up for my help, and holy shit, I am not taking a failure tonight. I just can't do it. So, if you'd please take a moment to sit down and breathe, we can-"

"Maybe I don't wwant y't'do it then Kar."

"Eridan."

Why is it now? Why is it right now that is therapist's voice kicks in and tells him that, actually, despite what he thinks about himself, maybe he deserves a little better than to be yelled at for feeling like a burden, or to be yelled at for having feelings? Why is he being so mean to himself.

"I ain't lyin'."

"You are. I'm not an idiot."

And then he remembers that he doesn't deserve the kindness regardless, that it doesn't matter if Karkat can't take a failure, he is wasting his _time and his energy trying to fix something that Eridan started in the first place, and if Eridan is gonna get cocky and grow a consciousness towards himself or any sort of protective ego, he better quit while he's ahead and get the fuck out before he ends up hurting Karkat more than he's already hurt him._

"Y'knoww wwhat? I don't evven wwanna do this anymore."

"Don't"

"I'm gonna."

"Don't."

His finger, trembles.

"Eridan."

Just, one more inch. Come on, it's right there.

_"Eridan."_

**_Do it._ **

"Finger away from the end call button."

But he, he can't, he can't fail,

"I need at least a noise from you. Did you pull it away?"

Come, _**ON,**_

"Eridan?"

Another attempt at a quiet breath, but it quivers, almost forms into a sob and he has to stop halfway through to keep him from hearing it. He can't. He won't let him. Hang up, Karkat, hang _up_ on him, bring yourself back to your words, to your convictions, and make your life better for doing so.

But he doesn't leave, no. He still hears his breathing, steady and calming and quiet, grounding. Why? Why does it toy with his emotions like this? "I'm not going to hang up even if you're quiet, Eridan. I won't just go away."

Go away.

Take the stillness and go away, Karkat,

Run while you still can, before he destroys you, too,

And there is no reason for the flowers to bloom any longer.

And still, he stays. Despite it all, despite his loathful form, twisted and gnarled and beast-like with long, thick fangs, hunger seeping through the cracks and trickling down his maw, Karkat's voice attempts to lead him to steady ground, extends its arm and says 'here, take it, come with me, we'll go somewhere you can sit and breathe and be,' and does he not know the second his hand gets close enough he'll snap at it, clutch it in his bite and still not clamp down. He likes to think, doesn't he? That he could ever be gentle with Karkat, and yet here he is after taking his long whip of a tongue and lancing his ear with his anger. He'd go to hold it and he'd shred it and he'd sit there and sob as Karkat tells him everything is okay. Just like he's doing now. It's not okay. He's going to continue to be hurt, he-

"You know I trust you, don't you?"

There are far better people to trust. Hasn't time taught him not to put confidence in an Ampora?

"And I know you trust me. I don't think either of us have the energy to fight that right now, and we shouldn't. It's true."

Trust is a funny word.

There's an element of truth to his words; Eridan does trust Karkat. He's reliable, he's hard-working, he's strong. Always ready to help. Eridan trusts Karkat, but Eridan doesn't trust anyone fully, not anymore, at least, and Karkat, while Eridan trusts him most, can no longer be given the benefit of the doubt with his feelings, as much as it hurts Eridan to think. They used to be so close.

"Can you trust me with this?"

He wishes.

"Please?"

God, does he wish more than anything he could build that mutual trust back.

"I want to make you feel better, and I won't sleep well tonight until I know you're gonna be okay."

Eridan would tell himself Karkat would be fine, that he could block out all the questions Eridan has no doubt left him, but wouldn't he be hypocritical? It would be so evil of him. Staying on the phone won't do either of them any good, though, not anymore, not like this, no,

"Do you know how important you are to me?"

The words are a rusty spoon to his skull, digging the skin and bone away to scramble at his brain. No. No, nonono, no not that, not that, type, of talk,

"I haven't been very good about showing it, but I can do better moving forward, if that's what you want. I think that's what I want, at least."

What Karkat wants and what Karkat needs, those are things Eridan will never understand nor should he ever pretend to understand. Only Karkat can know those things, only Karkat knows himself enough to come to those conclusions, but there IS one thing Eridan can understand, and it's that Karkat often jumps the gun before he's decided on things.

"Actually I don't think. I know that's what I want. I want to show you how important you are to me, I do. I get that maybe you don't feel like you're important to anyone at all and I'm so sorry but that's not the case, Eridan. Even if you're only important to one person. I would hope you're important to yourself, that you care for yourself and you want yourself to do better and you want good things for you, but,"

"even if you can't manage that, I can manage those feelings. I have those feelings. I care about you."

So,

"I adore you."

Eridan has to ask himself, here, he has to REALLY think, use what little cognitive thought he has to sit across from himself, from where he is in his bed, to project himself in the empty chair over by his desk and LOOK into his own eyes with a soured and tired expression, covered in blood, trembling in pain,

"Fuck, you don't even know how much it hit me until it was already years too late."

what,

"I should have never sent that memo to you. It's one of my biggest regrets."

kind of front, is this?

"You know, I want you to be here right now. Or, I want to be over there, maybe, I can't pick. But I want to be with you, it's what I was thinking about before you called, actually. Couldn't go to sleep. Thought I was crazy, I kept thinking about you, kept thinking about what it would be like to have you around more. To have you around right then, kept thinking about, I,"

"You're the only person that makes the unbridled aggression in my little demon heart fade into the background and poof away. Did you know that?"

He can literally name three people, RIGHT NOW, that are better at that job than he is. Kanaya is one of them, Gamzee's the other, and Tavros is the third. TAVROS. Tavros doesn't even have to DO anything and Karkat feels calmer around him. He doesn't want to throw Karkat's confession out the window, but, in Eridan's humble observations, that was a blatant lie straight from his mouth, and now he's not sure what to think of Karkat's words anymore.

"If I were there right now, I'd hold you. I don't really care how that sounds, as long as you know that it's what I'd do if I were there."

He wants that more than anything, he wishes he could believe it, and that tone is so convincing, the way he's talking has him starting to believe that maybe Karkat BELIEVES those things he's thinking, that he formed those thoughts on his own.

"Fuck implications."

And it scares him.

Whatever box Eridan wanted Karkat to open, he's about to open it, and on second thought, maybe Eridan wants the box closed! Maybe he would rather Karkat, not, right now, because whatever's about to come out of there is, it's really not going to be good for his health with that tone of voice, Karkat, what the hell, what the hELL was that, why do you regard him with such tenderness-

"Pale for you."

And the world, stops.

"I'm so, pale for you, Eridan."

And he, like Gemino, who had crawled from his iron prison in that tree, twisted and bleeding at the hilt of where burning arrows pierced his freezing skin, sought to open the tomb of what was sacred to them, to worship, to pay their final respects and give repentance to someone, _something_ , only to be encased within the heaviness of their own sin and suffering, arms branches of white, barren, void. And it takes its final breaths, knowing that with these words, Eridan is sealed in his tomb of red forever, lock of diamond unyielding to even the strongest of his heart feelings. If he, too, had drank from a thimble of sacred oil, would the burning that followed have saved him from the way his heart has frozen over pale with Karkat's will?

He should have seen it, but he should have expected he had no eyes to see with. No mouth to speak with. No true heart to give to him, for if he did, he'd sprout with warmth and joy and promise at Karkat's words, and move forward with faith, unyieldingly, holding onto what he's been given as if it were the only treasure in the world to be had. The only feelings he could ever return, and now, he'll die here, roots twisted in a downward spiral towards his own hell, instead of reaching for Karkat's hand, where he so desperately wishes for it to belong. If he ever wants to feel perfectly at home within his own bones again he'll learn to shape his palm to fit the hand that's been extended to him, and snap his branches until they fall perfectly, effortlessly, into place, where Karkat will never have known in the first place.

This, Karkat's burden to which he's confessed in confidence to Eridan, the way he's laid his soul bare, is what cements him between his sheets, and pours iron through his form, leaving him numb to stare blankly into the dark of his room, where there is no longer comfort in the dark.

He thought he was over this.

He thought, and yet.

He's always a fool to think, isn't he?

And he sounded so pained, as if the words were breaking from his breast, blunting his ribs until they broke open, as if they tore from a place deep within him where he _imprisoned_ them, intended to keep them there until they were buried with him in his death. As if his suffering was his confession. As if now, all he'll do is suffer for them, and he'll never stop, and he'll be begging for those he's betrayed to forgive him while fearing never being forgiven. And to ease his pain,

Eridan will take his fire of red, embers so hot they would cauterize the delicate skin of anyone else who dared handle it, and he'll smother it until it becomes merely kindling for another fire, and leave it until it dies out. Hopefully, someday, he'll have piled enough stones on top of it to have the inferno satisfied. Someday he'll be free from his feelings, and then, he'll feel like he had never gone through the struggle of knowing they've ever existed.

Someday there will be a garden of undying roses in the shape of his penitence, white and pure and good enough for Karkat, and the moment his hands brush their petals to admire them, they'll stain themselves red once more with feeling.

He'll never be free, will he?

So slow is the world around him, like the grove where olive trees once grew, scratched dead and withered in time, that his feelings echo and warble through his nightmare, so deeply they burst open his bones, splinters cutting open his muscles, and every word, _every_ word, is a hefty club to his fragile body, splitting him open further to have him bleed his mournful crimson feelings for Karkat to see.

"Fuck, it hurts because I shouldn't be. I already have a diamond and I've already convinced myself I wouldn't trade him for the world,"

And he _shouldn't_ feel for him at all, for he's not worthy of being felt over, of being given such a privilege, no flowers on his coffin carved of his own bone and dyed sanguine, oh, how he can hardly keep his feelings from flooding into his essence and coloring him flushed, he's so sure this is all Karkat's knowing reaction to seeing it stained on his cheeks, stark against the pale of snow, where he thought maybe, maybe, it would be enough to veil the cry of his heartbeat, but alas, it was a sheer veil so paper thin the snow must have dissolved holes, and his knowing eyes peered through to look upon what could no longer be hidden. His pale offering of lilies to lay on Eridan's gravestone after he's been lain under his thick loam of soil meant to reclaim him is nothing but pity. It's pity. That's all it is, in the most literal sense, no matter how deep, no matter how much the torture of growing them from his heart costed him, no matter how painful it was to pluck them from his beating chest and lay them out still bleeding. Pitiful feelings and still not enough to mirror the already growing system of forest roots beneath his knees that meet the ground. Still, those pale flowers, born of pure intentions, are thorny and spined and they dig further into his own heart as he fails to fully disconnect them, and to rip them from their hiding place where his own diamond may look upon them and see that though Eridan is gone, Karkat nurtures his feelings?

His own diamond, betrayed,

"And then you hold your arms open for me, and god, aren't I such a damned fool to throw myself in them?"

And isn't he a fool to want to hold them open wider in hopes he'll lace his fingers in his and pull him close and whisper _'you're mine'_ in giggles that birth from the warmth of the sun so golden and real and bubbles of warm red fire?

"Idiot."

Yes.

"I'm an idiot."

No.

"Some days I wanna be an idiot with you."

_No._

"Some days I wanna be _your_ idiot."

**_No._ **

"Some days I wish I was smart enough to make a choice."

And the choice is right in front of him, living and breathing and screaming for him to take it in his hands and squeeze it until its eyes pop and its lungs crush underneath his grip, and still, he looks away with fingers laced in someone else's, reaching around that monstrous beast to get around the promise of his heart. And that's okay. And it should be okay. But what isn't okay is reaching with an envelope of invitation to walk with him, past the beast that screeches its cry outward, to stand behind him, string of pink entangling their hands, hoping that the person standing next to him won't notice there's another wrapped in his color.

"We could have been diamonds."

They could have been, maybe, once.

"I still want to be diamonds-“

**”Don’t y’fuckin’ dare.”**

”... I, what?”

Karkat made his choice, long ago, about a year before they ever made it onto that meteor, and Eridan isn't sure if Karkat ever noticed that Eridan couldn't bring himself to talk much in the month or two after, before Eridan forced himself to push his feelings down because he couldn't _bear_ to lose him as a friend.

”Don’t y’fuckin’ dare do this t’poor, swweet Gam, Kar." How dare he. How dare he have the world beneath his fingertips and STILL cast it away for ONE, MEASLY PARASITE? There are so few people Eridan can talk about without having a bitter taste in his mouth and Gamzee happens to be one of those people. He's genuine, he's courteous, and he tries. He tries, regardless of whether or not his efforts work, even if he can already see it backfiring, even if it _hurts him_ in ways he can't fix by himself. He tries like Karkat does, even if Gamzee doesn't always seek to give help unless asked. Gamzee will take a myriad of different abuses from people and hardly bat an eye, always smiling, always extending a hand to those who will take it, always offering the spot next to him to anyone who might want to sit there. He goes through possession for YEARS- oh, oh, Eridan was _fuming,_ so fucking _angry_ when he found out that- A FRIDGE. A **FRIDGE.** He gets out of his possession, has to work to undo what damage he could undo, has to, he has to fix things that weren't his fault, take responsibility for things he didn't do,

”But-“

”But nothin’, Kar. Gam’s really gone an’ shaped up despite all it’s taken him an’ he’s a damn proper man, noww. An’ I don’t mean t’say y’ain’t or that bein’ a proper man in th’traditional sense matters; I mean that Gam’s run himself through th’wwringer t’be one wwho he is. He’s alwways been kind an’ gentle-hearted, an’ noww that he’s got a lot a’those obstacles that wwere holdin’ him back taken care a’he can givve y’more than wwhat y’need from a moirail.”

Eridan has to fix things that were HIS FAULT.

“I-“

”More than I could EVVER givve y’Kar." Is grimdarkness ANY EXCUSE, when regardless of his state, when regardless of how terrible he felt, he at the VERY LEAST still had agency over his body and his actions?

”Hold on, Eridan, that’s not fair.”

It's not fair?

When has it _ever_ been fair?

”Y’knoww, I don’t really care if it’s fair or not. It ain’t fair a’y’t’put me on th’spot wwith your supposed pale feelin’s evven if I wwas th’one-“

”Shut up.”

Fine.

Fine, he'll shut up. It's what he's been trying to get himself to do this whole time, so why not now? After all, Karkat finally said it himself. It's better if he just, doesn't talk.

So what's better, Karkat? Is it better to feel the ever-deafening void between the two of you growing with every second of silence between you that you share on the phone? Is it better to feel his feelings run numb from his body, so cold and biting that if you were to put your balmy palms underneath them the blood beneath them would freeze? Do you prefer the hollowness in your chest to the growing drum beat of anxiety? To the pinching feeling on every nerve end? Or do you feel nothing, after all? Does this do nothing to your heart? It would be a refreshing change, to see that you might be unaffected by someone else's choices.

How bad does it hurt, exactly? Or do you feel nothing, after all?

And all the same, the silence is... too deafening. An absence of noise that exists when all other noise doesn't, and, and he, he wonders if Karkat remembers how to breathe.

“... I, didn’t think you’d be this quiet.”

What the hell do you expect when you tell someone to shut up?

”Eridan? Are you there?”

Does it matter?

”... Eridan?”

It wouldn't make a difference. Nothing makes a difference, nothing he does, because no matter what choice he makes, everything will stay the same, and he should have come to that conclusion by himself in his silent, lonely death.

"Okay, no. Look, I, I shouldn't have said anything, you're right. For the love of fuck, can you give me some more feedback here?"

"I'm not hearing anything."

"Damnit, you called ME. I mean I'm, not exactly helping you get to bed but it's not like you can really fault me for,"

",,, okay so maybe it wasn't right to yell at you for your feelings. I know, I get it, I can get rash, I can I swear but, but- Eridan I'm sorry, can you, can you just say something for the love of fuck? I mean jeez you're not blameless either and as far as feelings go I mean look, I just said what we've both been thinking for a long time,"

"alright that's not fair of me to say either but come on, Eridan. You're telling me throughout everything you haven't thought about this? I mean sure, you weren't the one who brought up the proposition but you still TOOK it, didn't you? There's no way you didn't feel something."

"... right?"

"I, I didn't force you into anything, did I? I didn't mean to pressure you if that's what I did, I just wanted to-" "... oh god. Oh, fuck. I, shit. Shit. Eridan, Eridan I'm so sorry-"

"I _wwas_ pale for you."

Penitence.

"Wh, What?"

"I wwas."

He has chosen penitence, for his crimes, for every burden Karkat has ever had to carry, for the burden of knowing him, of him, for carrying every weight he’s ever lain on his shoulders, for lending his heart to him when no one else had, for looking upon a dirtied and rejected soul and holding its hand, without fear, without complaint, with whole and true intent to do good, regardless of his own feelings. For ever leading him to this. For ever allowing Karkat to feel this pain, and now, with his false confession, he may take the burden from Karkat’s shoulders and watch as it digs into his own and twists into thick, winding brambles, underneath his skin, forever bleeding and burning and suffering, as he should, and that suffering will gather in the space between his ribs and his lungs just underneath his heart and pierce him through, form a weapon of righteous devotion that will feed off of his pain in which to smite all that would seek to fight against Karkat’s will. There is only, now, doing what is asked of him, spirit vengeful and taking on an eternity of work for his betrayal while his cold, lifeless body lays in its prison of red, leaving his sins preserved for the generations to follow, for them to bear witness to his criminal and unrequited feelings. The truth is evident. He will never repent in full for his prideful heart, but he will carry out Karkat’s will no matter the cost, and while he searches for his signs,

He’ll make sure Karkat will never unlock his coffin, that his body might fall limp and empty to the floor, for him to watch the red sink into the soil and birth scarlet maple trees that refuse to die. But, not only that,

He’ll lead him back to his true feelings, the ones he expressed so long ago, those feelings of pure disgust said with more conviction than even the most distressing of Karkat’s truths, and Karkat will be safe from his tormentor forevermore.

”But I can’t be anymore and y’knoww that.”

Oh, beacon of light, boiling hot and molten white at the very core of his being, may you be gouged from his chest and held to the very highest point above his head, towards the heavens, beating with fervent justice and intention, trickling heatedly down his arm, and may you illuminate the path ahead, the one that he will carry Karkat down, too, defending him dutifully with every breath, and lead him to his halo made of thorn bushes, that he may adorn you with it, and twist it round his arm, and may you both bleed as he holds you there until forces unknown sever his arm from his body, and render him guideless, useless, nothing.

And in that moment, that shattering, that breaking point, he hears a small, weak, _broken,_

"Fuck."

The first moment he ever heard Karkat's voice break, he thought it was a sign of heat stroke.

He can still _feel_ that day, the way the water ran through his fingers and splashed against the flat openness of his tiny, but surprisingly strong hands. A hot day on the meteor where the metal tile baked the soles of their shoes and cooked their skin almost ashen, the way the fluorescent lights screwed in above the mirror burned into his soft, jellied eyes as he scrubbed at his calloused palms. The light never really stopped burning, even now, he can feel it, far into the future, but maybe it's because he never really learned to live past that moment when the door handle jostled and stuck until it almost snapped into position, a bundle of messy hair and small horns tumbling in all wrapped up in a sweater too big to fit right and then slamming itself, such a little thing, swallowed by the world around it, into the hollow metal of the door, collapsing at its feet to reveal a sunken dent where it hit. All in the reflection of the mirror, right in the very corner, where he could barely see it. The slam was loud enough, he thought. That should have alerted him first, but the running water was enough background noise to drown out even the loudest of his thoughts, in that moment, or he supposes the moment that had passed, and after splashing the rest of the soap suds from his dusty cheeks, he turned the handle and started walking.

Footstep, one after another, he remembers the empty void of hunger in his gut filling with weird fuzzy curls that tickled him nauseous as he kept on, and that bundle only felt smaller and smaller the closer he got. Too small to hear. Too small to see. Sweat on his forehead reminding him that due to some miracle he was experiencing warm, flowing blood, and it was uncomfortable and still it meant nothing compared to that shrinking little thing that he swore could fit into his hand if he could just, _get_ there, somehow, the tile stretching on and on and seeming endless until he bumped against worn rubber soles, scent like sun-baked tires and melting tar, and then it whipped its frail little neck upward to meet his eyes.

He still can't remember. He can't remember what he saw but he knows it was Karkat, always, and to him it was the first time he'd ever seen him so closely, and that memory like a thin, faded photograph, is somehow the one thing keeping him grounded and yet the one thing that detaches him from everything that is, and was, and will be. Everything is there, so vivid and thick against his skin with the air sticking on the inside of his lungs as he would breathe and the loose thread on the end of Karkat's sweater and the way his knuckles were pale gray after scarring over from being split open and all the dirt and grime on his palms and cheeks and his rats nest of a mop of hair that wouldn't brush through no matter how hard you tried and his left shoelace slowly slipping from its haphazard and hurried knot, everything, _everything there,_

But not his face. Not his cheeks or his mouth or his eyes or anything, and he can still feel the way his gaze pleaded with him to help him be _done,_ to let him _leave,_ how exhausted he was. It's all a blur but he can feel it. A blur. The one thing he thought he'd never be able to lose and yet he lost it and still he _feels_ it there and it all beat against the window of his heart as that same small, weak, broken,

_"Fuck."_

It feels the same. This is that moment, where Karkat looked up at him, lips trembling and eyes glazed wet and cheeks sunken but burning and a small heave of his breath before he went to sink right back down in his sweater, and that sob. That sob that forced time to come to an end and threw the weight of gravity onto his chest to knock the air from him and that first sob, so unpracticed it seemed like his _first_ , that made his blood run cold.

He promised himself to never let it happen again. That after he pulled him into his arms and let him cry onto his shoulder, away from his own sight, he'd be there to keep it from happening _ever again._

"God fucking Damnit, I,"

And yet.

"I,"

Be consumed with anger, Karkat, with vengeance, heated and unrelenting resolve, for your moment of vulnerability to gain protection from hurt was never enough to protect you from the very thing you trusted in.

"... I didn't mean for it to spiral like this. We were both supposed to be going to bed."

"Wwe wwere.”

Things love to go south for the both of them. This really shouldn't be a surprise.

”Alright, wwell, I’ll let y’g-“

"Please don't hang up."

"An' wwhy shouldn't I?"

"That's wwhat I thought, Kar. I'm sorry t'bother y'at this time a'night an' take y'awway from your owwn sleep. I'll let y'havve t'morroww for yourself so y'can catch up o-"

**"NO!"**

Oh boy if that doesn't smack someone right out of their sentence nothing will. Another hit to the headboard and, he's sure that can't be good for him, the fact that it doesn't even have much feeling when he can hear another splinter and at the very least, he's hoping his horn is intact so that he can patch some makeup over it and be fine for when he has to leave the house. Surely the blood won't be that bad, right?

"Eridan please I, you _promised_ me."

God, he's going to spit on himself for letting Karkat think his promises mattered, though he was going to hold to it anyway until he pulled all of _this._ Still, better to let Karkat think he's shit at holding them so that Karkat won't have to come to him for things that require promises. So there's no chance of pain. "An' since wwhen did my promises become reliable?"

"At the very least think of it as doing me a favor so that I don't have to go to her DAMN party tomorrow. I know someone's going to show up and drag me there if I'm not already doing something and I really don't want to go, I've told them, like, eight times, and I wanted to spend the night with you."

They _have_ had this plan for a month, though there hasn't been too much discussion of what they're doing, just that they're hanging out at Karkat's house, so it wouldn't be bad for Karkat, necessarily, if the plan fell back, since he has the ability to go somewhere else, but, it need not be said that as much as Eridan denies himself he would give his left arm to spend time with Karkat, and if Karkat _really_ needs him to be there to have no excuse to go somewhere, if he can't find someone better to fill in the spot.... he's thinking.

"I, made plans. You don't, have to come if you don't want to but you should have just said no in the first place. I mean I get why you would..."

"... I didn't make things that bad, did I?"

That's something Eridan can manage on his own, but yes, Karkat, Eridan can admit to himself that in the same way the last pin dropped on a dam breaks the wall, you did indeed have a part in making things the way they are. The gravity of Karkat's tone won't hit Eridan for years, but he at the very least notices something is off, so, good job, Eridan, you're paying just a little bit of attention, even if your attention skills suck ass.

"Fuck."

Fine. He'll give in to it, but only at the promise that Karkat will emotionally be better off undergoing the burden of Eridan's presence than he'd be at that party, and if all else fails, he can just leave early, right? "I'll be there t'morroww t'get people off your back but then I'm leavvin' y'right 'lone again. I ain't-"

"fuck."

... Now that's not right. "Kar?"

"i'msos orry."

And with the break of his first sob the moment is sealed; there is no fixing this.

Eridan, now, filled with shock, with new grief that compounds and freezes him, seizes his muscles, can do nothing, NOTHING, except for sit there and tell him that, Karkat, it's okay, it's fine, stop crying, voice shrunk and hoarse and crumbling as he listens to Karkat's sobbing, the way his tears fall against the screen of his phone, wishing oh, oh, how he wants to be on the other end, how he wishes he were there to pull him into his arms and hold him flush against his chest, soothe his tortured, troubled soul, when mere moments ago he was desperate to have the memory of him vanish away never to return to his heart. But Eridan isn't enough, anymore. No, every sound of his voice has Karkat wail in anguish, cuts through what breathing pace he had and destroys his chances of getting oxygen into his lungs and it's so much worse, so, much worse than he remembered, those tears colored every color between vivid blue and pitch void and the paleness of his feelings and,

And for a moment, he swears,

He can feel a different, more vibrant color in those tears, something he's sure he's hallucinating,

But he can't take it anymore, can't stand the thought of that mutual understanding,

And Eridan too, now, bursts into tears, their sobs falling into rhythm as the ghost they leave on each other's bedsheets clings to them, nails digging into fabric, heads buried in chests, their heartbeats the only comfort that there's a tomorrow for them in each other's futures, that some day, they can learn how to move forward with each other without immediately falling back.

Oh, ~~my heart,~~ my diamond,

Hear my pale confession, that it may mend your weeping heart

and if my words fail, I'll be here to pull you, withering,

trembling and tearful and mourning for something you'll never have

into my arms, and your heart will echo

one word:

Red.


	13. 7 in the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick transitionary chapter before we get into the next one, stuff's been happening so I figured I'd give you something while I get back into flexing my writing muscles. Thanks guys

Pale grey makeup dabbed over a long, gnarled protrusion on his forehead, an almost unnoticeable crack on his horn that winds up its side; both, the result of contact to his bedframe. The slight divots in his cheeks that rake to his chin? His nails, which took him  _ quite  _ a bit longer than he expected to clean this morning (and then trim to his finger pads, since he'd been meaning to do that anyway.) Is it cowardice, or is it courage; the question burns bright in his brain, stings a bitter taste into his tongue as he pulls a brush from its holder. Whatever it is that possessed him to walk into his bathroom this morning as if nothing had happened last night, as if he even had the right to exist in that space... tenacity? Persisting even when one shouldn't? No, that's  _ audacity,  _ is it not...?

It's not working. Whatever he's been doing, whatever he plans to do right now isn't working, and if he showed up to the door with a veil this thin and sparse it would be the first thing Karkat's eyes were drawn to- that is, assuming he'd look at his face, which, as much as he doesn't want to believe, is unfortunately exactly what he'll do, based on previous observation. If only he wouldn't, if only the vision of being caught didn't feel so vivid, didn't lock up his wrists, his jaw. Why anyone would want to risk remembering his face for a single moment of eye contact is beyond him, but Karkat's behavior has been... unnatural. As previously established. Something Eridan has no right to say, of course. Something he can't even say in good faith, with so little previous behavior to base it on, the majority of it being presented to him in the form of undoubtedly filtered walls of text. Eridan doesn't know Karkat.

He's starting to wonder if he ever really knew him at all.

No matter- what Eridan knows about him is Karkat's choice, and what Karkat knows about Eridan is his own choice, and that choice leads him here today, tiny form unceremoniously hunched over his counter as a prop in the reflection of the mirror, caking over last night's damage so that Karkat doesn't have to map out an exact timeline of Eridan's path to unraveling and, eventually, burning the remnants of his own thread until they're nothing more than a chalky smudge of ash in the fibers of his carpet. Unfortunately for Eridan, he's doing a piss poor job of making things work, so he's going to have to scrap everything and try all over again. What a waste of precious time. The taste in his mouth sours, burns acrid, knowing it's better it's happening to him than to Karkat, who doesn't  _ have  _ that time to waste. The hope that Karkat’ll come to his senses is wearing holes. It's still there. There's still time.

Not much of it, but hey, he can't have everything, and he should be grateful he can take what he can get, though at the very least, he should be thinking about how much time he can let this take realistically so that it's not taking upwards of five years. Five years? Yes, that sounds about right. He'll give this whole thing five years to crumble before he'll take it in his hand and crush it himself. Now, about the brush he's holding (which he should have kept put away in the first place...)

His makeup blender soaks in a dish of hot, soapy water while he scrubs aggressively at his face with a clean washcloth; he wonders why he even bothers getting makeup remover for sensitive skin when every time he washes it he destroys the first dermal layer. As raw and irritated as it looks when he pulls the cloth away from his face, at the very least it's smoother, now, and he even got the scarring on his forehead to pop out way less than it did before, which means that makeup will do a fine job of hiding it this time, as long as he remembers to make it thicker instead of his usual thin layer. Scrubbing at his horn, however, leads to finger indents in his solid counter and several minutes of pained whimpering every single time he touches fibers to the crack. It's, a lot bigger than he wants it to be, and the bruising radiates all the way up to the tip. It's an ugly thing; this huge violet splotch, the width of a softball at its biggest point, wrapping around the base, tinting the fiber of his horn brown... whoever invented horn makeup is single-handedly saving him from a conversation he is  _ not  _ willing to have and he thinks they should be making a monthly paycheck bigger than Feferi's disgustingly expensive clothing budget. Eridan would thank himself for buying horn filler in advance if he gave a single shit about himself right now.

Everything's clean, fresh, and about as new as it can get. Isn't it funny, now, how it burns when he runs his hand along his open skin? That his fingers can feel the texture. That he feels the stabbing in his gut from lack of eating. His pain is  _ real.  _ It's  _ there.  _ The primer smells like freshness and tea tree and it lays like a whole new layer of skin and it's hydrating and dewy and the wet sponge is so squishy against his face and the slightly hot temperature stings and it tastes bitter when he gets it on the corner of his lips, the water from the blender trickles down the length of his arm when he dabs too hard at the bridge of his nose. He can feel its weight when he grazes his eyelashes with it. He can feel his weight shift when he moves his leg and he can feel his hip grind painfully against the joint as it moves and the thunk of the sole of his shoe as it hits the tile and the ache of his elbow as he rests it on the counter. The air is sweet, cool as it enters his lungs.

It's so stupid. It's  _ so  _ stupid, he knows it is, that he focuses on every sense and every feeling, but when you forget that you ever could feel in the first place, when you're sitting on the grass for the hundredth time and it's the first time that it's cold and fresh and lush and  _ living.  _ When you haven't breathed in so long, that even in your darkest moments where you're telling yourself, over and over again, that you deserve to go back there, that you deserve never to breathe again, that you deserve to be deprived of what was taken from you in the first place, to hear not a single voice, not even your own, you'll take the burning you feel with your breath. Against his own malice, a sense of justice and retribution that he harbors against himself, he continues to indulge in breath, and touch, in life, especially now that it's his own. That he can do whatever he wants with it, as long as he doesn't hurt anyone.

His primer is ruined in some places, eyes sting with the primer his tears picked up, but it's an easy fix; run over it again and it'll be fine. He's got plenty to spare.

Isn't he so selfish, to still be here? How damning, how terrible.

How beautiful.

It's not going to be anything striking, only enough makeup to look normal, but not enough to draw attention to his face in any capacity.... maybe a touch of a more prominent eyeliner color if it looks too smooth. He could also wear an outfit that draws more attention to make sure Karkat won't look at his face, but he's already dressed in something. Sure, it's not  _ ideal  _ to wear pajamas with boots but why the hell put more effort into existing than he needs to when he feels like shit? What is the  _ point  _ of that? He's already doing makeup, it's not going to kill him to wear a baggy t-shirt and some leggings to Karkat's house and it's not like Karkat is going to give a single shit about it either.

It's always him, huh? Doesn't matter what he's doing, it all ties back to  _ him.  _ Even as he's griping internally about how bad this horn filler sears at his nerves and smells a little bit like Aqua Net, he's figuring out how to navigate the mindfield that is last night's conversation. For both their sakes, he's hoping he'll leave it be and attempt to bury it under whatever awkwardness he'll undoubtedly put out there, and then Eridan can poke fun at the awkwardness and break the tension enough for them to stand being in the same room as each other. Not going is not an option; he already promised. Figures that he'd get himself into an impossible mess and pull KARKAT in with him, no less, for what? For funsies? To be fair it's not entirely his own fault, is it? No; none of this would even be as much of an issue as it is if Karkat had simply, not, said those things. Eridan would have continued to be blissfully unaware, and maybe they could have just talked about more bullshit that happened before he died, or he could take a verbal beating from Karkat about his feelings that shouldn't exist in the first place. Would it have come out eventually, though? And then,

does he... keep this from Gamzee, or does he tell him? Doesn't Gamzee have the right to know about what he said? Was Karkat testing the waters to see how Eridan would react, was Gamzee in on this? He's sure that if that were the case, he'd have gotten it on text to screenshot. He doesn't want to ruin things for Karkat, doesn't want to go about destroying quadrants that really aren't his business, but didn't Karkat  _ make  _ this his business? A refusal to accept his proposal is one thing, and it's the right choice, and it always will be. Is part of the right choice making sure Gamzee knows what happened?

What would he say, if he knew what happened?

It sticks to the lining of his stomach, heavy globules of tar making holes in tissue just as heavy, guilted eyes rove across the reflection of his withered face, t hose,  _ dry _ eyes that flicker between the mirror and the time on his phone; a minute past seven in the morning, right as it turns, too. Eyelids heavy, body fragile and bruised in places he would have never guessed he could be bruised in, so, so tired but he's wide awake despite it all. The hours between three and four seemed to go on forever and still, there was only one of them. When was the last time he got  _ proper _ sleep, if sleep at all? When was the last time he  _ ate?  _ So many things to keep track of, so many things to ignore, sometimes on accident, sometimes purposefully. A slight step backwards and his vision fades to grey, consciousness floating away from him in one fell swoop, speckles of static color dotting what eventually becomes black as his lungs shrink with the sudden loss of balance. Too fast, too much at once, no food for who knows how long, no water since yesterday afternoon, and running on nothing but heartache and grief and  _ fear, _

Does it matter? Does it matter, at all?

All of this is so, arbitrary, every little nitpick, his entitlement to the acknowledgement of his needs or his fears, arbitrary. What the hell is he even on about? He knows what the problem is, he has his fears, he has EVERY tool to fix them and he just… doesn’t? Does he want to feel pity for himself  _ that _ much, to where he’ll stop himself if he tries to fix the problem? And he’s afraid but of what? That he’s withering away? That he’s wrong about things? That he’s right? Is he really so fearful of the way his wrist clicks and the painful squeeze at his spine? What would happen if he drove four hours just to have all of his worst thoughts come to fruition? Moreover… which ones are the bad ones, and which ones are the good ones?

He’s alive. He’s fine. It’s four minutes past seven in the morning and he’s got raw and inflamed and  _ working  _ hands, and he’s going to make himself a little something to eat, and then take a nice, long walk with his hips that grate against their sockets and aching feet, and it’ll be okay. He’s still here.

He’s still here, and maybe if he tries hard enough, everything is going to be okay one day, too.


End file.
